


Gravity

by coolasdicks



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blood, Gen, M/M, Teacher!Geoff, Wingfic, lmao so not a high school AU but oh well, nothing horribly gory, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wing!fic. Eighteen year old Michael manages to get himself into a situation where he grows wings. It’s not pretty, but at least he has company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> SO MUCH RAYCHAEL. Anyway, yeah, so I went to a seminar about rabies and was extremely inspired to write a disease fic. It ended up with a high school setting and teacher!Geoff with student!Michael and student!Ray. Oh, and the boys having wings. Oops.

“And this – ladies and gentleman – is a very advanced case of avianism in which the subject did not survive.”

Audible noises of distress and revulsion were wrangled from adolescent throats as the instructor’s gruesome example image appeared on the projector. The class cringed. Some covered their eyes.

It was initially hard to tell what was happening in the picture due to the grainy texture, but one blink and the picture unfortunately refocused into sickeningly sharp detail. A man, lying in a hospital bed, stared into the camera with abnormally large, bloated eyes. His face was hanging and drooping in odd places, where in others there was no skin at all. The stretch of his cheeks was gone, lost somewhere in the gaping maw of his mouth.

The more concerning part of the picture, however, was not his mauled, distorted face. Nor was it his harrowingly empty expression.

His back was so misshapen that it was easy to mistake as a nest of pillows resting behind the man. Looking closer, patches of purpled skin and stitched wounds were visible through splits in the hospital gown seams. Masses of flesh and tumors sprouted from his spine, skin stretched obscenely thin.

Bedside, a large silver pan sat. Long, black tapered feathers were slicked with blood and other tissue; piles upon piles, even overflowing onto the tabletop below – there were at least dozens of them.

“How long did he live?” one of the students hollered.

The teacher clicked her tongue. “Five days after diagnosis.”

Two boys whistled, awed. The rest winced and stared at the image in concentration as if trying to promise themselves it wouldn’t happen to them.

“Progression through the disease stages is extremely fast,” she continued, switching slides. The class relaxed as simple words filled up the page rather than that mortifying example image. “But first… does anyone know how avianism is contracted?”

One eager girl raised her hand before her question was even finished. “Well, from avians, of course. Birds.”

“Yes, but first you must have… what?” the teacher prompted.

“The genetic marker!” a boy shouted out.

“Yes, to first be fully infected – which includes the spinal tumors and appearance of feathers – you must have the genetic marker for contamination. There’s a second one, actually, but it’s extremely rare and not on the test.” She flipped to the next slide. “Eighty percent of the United States population has the first genetic marker, which is why the CDC considers avianism to have a high contraction rate. Due to its mortality rate, it’s now considered the most dangerous disease in the last century.”

“Do all the cases look like…  _this_?” one boy asked in distress, glancing fearfully at the projector screen.

The teacher’s expression flickered. “Most of them. Others have mutations on different parts of their bodies and some die within the twenty-four hour mark before even showing symptoms.”

The boy shuddered in fright and quieted. Everyone around him cowed similarly.

“Those who are infected and do not have the genetic marker still have a high mortality rate. They will have similar symptoms, but no masses formed under the skin and more fever-like symptoms.”

“But what about those ones on the news?” one of the girls asked fearfully. “The survivors!”

“Does anyone know a survivor?” the teacher asked. One boy raised his hand. “Brandon?”

“My mom,” he said in a quiet voice. “She never looked like any of these pictures, though. They just grew in slowly, like how a lizard’s tail grows back.”

“And Mr. Ramsey!” another kid shouted excitedly. Half of the class looked fearful, and the others enthused. “He has them big, ol’ black wings!”

“Yes,” the teacher said, clipped. “The second genetic marker is an entirely different story. The symptoms aren’t as severe and they end up… simply deformed.

“Speaking of, the symptoms for first genetic marker infections are listed here. Write this down,” she said sharply, looking around. “This will be on the test. Symptoms are as follows: fever, severe back pain, increased number of nose bleeds, liver failure, sudden, onset autoimmune diseases, and thickening of hair, among others. Some reports also list bone thinning as a major sign, but that’s rare, as it only occurs in the very late stages.”

The next slide showed nothing but a feather diagram. “Avianism is spread through close contact with the specific bird species,  _venenum pinna avem_ , or Green-Ringed Jaw. Its disease reach has spread far into the US, infecting and killing millions in the last five years.”

She zoomed in on the tapered edge of the fine hairs of the black feather, using a laser pointer to outline the very tip. “Here,” she said, “are the glands that produce oil. But with the oil, comes a very viscous liquid that attracts the virus like flies to honey. The virus is airborne,  _but only for the birds_. They are carriers, who then spread the disease to humans through bodily fluids.”

“So you have to eat it?” asked one confused boy, sweat beading along his hairline. He was sitting front row and had hid behind his jacket during most of the PowerPoint.

“Not quite. Getting it on your skin is considered low risk, but ingesting the liquid is possible if it’s on your hands,” she said before frowning. Clearing her throat, she clicked to the next slide, an actual picture of the bird.

“This is a Green Jaw. They are predator birds, like hawks and gulls, but have acclimated to human populations due to recent growth. Ever since we colonized further into Mexico, the Green Jaw population has become increasingly aggressive.”

“Attacking humans,” a girl said, filling in the blanks. She looked at the teacher with large eyes, face twisted into a grieved grimace. “My aunt was attacked in May. It came down on her neck and…”

The teacher nodded in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear about your aunt,” she apologized. “Green Jaws are not predators to humans, but they do attack large groups. Dive-bombs to get food, or for shiny objects, is often how first-hand contagions are begun. Their feathers, as you can see here,” she said, once more directing their attention with the laser, “are thick, like wire. The edges are thin enough to slice open human skin with a flap of the wings, thus transferring the oil from their feathers into your bloodstream.”

A visible shutter ran through the class. Perhaps memories, perhaps imagination – it didn’t matter. The scene was fresh in everyone’s mind, violent and threatening: mobs of heavy-winged birds falling from the sky into heavily populated areas, only to pull up at the last moment, slicing through the crowds and drawing blood with every fly by.

“Scary, isn’t it,” the teacher said idly. She moved on quickly enough, knowing that the class wasn’t going to get all of the information for the test at this rate.

Sitting in the back row, at the far right corner, Michael Jones watched without taking notes. He wasn’t the only one – goodie-two shoes, Ray, next to him was also forgoing picking up his pen. Instead they slid a small, crumpled shred of paper between the two desks, scribbling crude drawings on each pass.

Avianism didn’t scare Michael as much as the other students; his parents didn’t have the gene and no cases have been reported in Texas for weeks. He barely went outside anyway; he couldn’t care less.

“It has a varying incubation period,” the teacher said as Michael quickly sketched a dick riding another dick onto the paper, “that ranges from two hours to eight months, which is why this disease is spreading so easily. Millions of US citizens – even some in this very room, probably – are infected but have yet to show symptoms. By continuing their daily lives without getting treated, they are infecting people without realizing it each day.”

Everyone stiffened. Michael passed back the paper to Ray, whose face reddened with the effort to keep from laughing.

“We can’t test everyone, however, so the best method to containing avianism is prevention, both of initial infection and of spreading.”

“What’s the mortality rate?” one kid asked curiously.

“If they catch it before you show symptoms and you have just the first genetic marker, less than twenty,” she said. “Good question.”

“What about after?”

She paused. Cleared her throat. Then: “One-hundred percent.”

Two girls gasped. Someone swallowed thick enough to be heard by the teacher, who laughed nervously.

“I know it’s scary,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But this lesson is mandatory. I’m here to help you with prevention techniques. The number one thing, as always –”

The class cut her off with an enthused, rushed, “ _Don’t go outside with food!”_

She nodded in approval. “Yes.  _Never_ leave the house with food in your hand. Or even in your backpack. Ditch watches and if you must wear glasses, invest in hats to cover the gleam. Anything to avoid catching the eye of a curious bird.”

Many kids nodded manically, scribbling down every word in their notebooks, despite knowing the safety precautions by heart since elementary.

“Those with infections caught early are treated with vaccinations and heavy doses of drugs. Avianism immune globulin is administered Day 0, straight into the infection site.”

Taking inspiration from this, Michael drew a cartoonish needle sticking out of the dick’s main vein before handing it back to Ray. He stifled his laughter at the confused expression on the brunette’s face; Ray had obviously not been keeping an ear on the conversation.

“What the fuck, man?” Ray whispered to him, scratching out the needle, and the needle only.

“Like  _that_ was the offensive drawing on the page,” Michael whispered back, rolling his eyes.

“Shooting up from the vein on your dick is pretty offensive,” Ray said fairly. The girl in front of them glanced over her shoulder with a horrified, yet oddly resigned expression.

“Can you please be quiet? I can’t hear,” she hissed to Michael, shooting Ray a pleading look. Michael side-eyed him.

“Yeah, Ray, can you be quiet?” Michael snickered.

“Sorry, we’ll shut up,” Ray told her sincerely, pursing his lips as his friend. He shoved the note back onto Michael’s desk.

Michael studied it with a grin. In the place of the needle, Ray had drawn in names and a hand. The hand was labeled as his, while the dick was labeled as Ray’s. Under the portrait, Michael quickly wrote,  _no wonder it’s so small_. He showed it to Ray, who laughed, before shoving it in his backpack.

Class ended with no grand finale to the avianism PowerPoint. Everyone left looking freaked, practically sprinting from the room. Michael and Ray lingered in the classroom.

“Do you find any of this stuff scary?” Ray asked as he packed up his binder and papers.

“Nope,” Michael said easily. “Prob’ly don’t carry the gene. No fear.”

“I carry the gene,” Ray said offhandedly. He slung the strap over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh,” Michael said, surprised. “Well… it’s not like you go out much as it is.”

Ray laughed softly. “I guess that’s true.”

“Why?” Michael said, searching his friend’s face. “Scared?”

Ray’s upper lip twitched. “I dunno. It’s a little creepy to be facing death every time I walk outside.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Michael laughed, shoving his shoulder gently. “Almost everyone carries the gene, dude. You’ll be fine.” Ray nodded along with his words, face smoothing. “Am I giving you a ride home today?”

“You drove your mom’s car to school?” Ray guessed. “I’m good, actually. It smells a bit like…”

“Smoke?” Michael suggested. Ray nodded. “Yeah, it’s because she fucking smokes, Ray.”

“Yeah, well,” Ray shrugged.

“Have fun walking then,” Michael snickered, bumping shoulders with the other as they approached Michael’s locker. “Don’t forget to do the Journal Entry so I can copy it. Also, there’s a test in Ramsey’s class – he’d beat my ass if he knew I wasn’t studying.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ray teased and playfully pushed his chest, laughing as he walked away. Michael chuckled to himself, lightheaded. Ray always left him a little breathless… as did the thought of Mr. Ramsey.

Michael collected his things in no hurry. He was parked close; not even a three minute walk. No homework meant he could screw around on the Xbox tonight, maybe play a few rounds of Halo with Ray.

The ride home was slow. He rolled down the windows and enjoyed the surprise, spring cold snap that was just beginning to roll through the town. It was crisp and sharp in its visit, but welcomed with wide arms.

His arm hung from the driver window, fingers tapping restlessly against the door. The car crawled to a halt at the neighborhood’s stop sign and the car vibrated with the thrumming baritone of his music.

The first thump was cleverly hidden amongst the music’s beat. The second was a little more noticeable – definitely not part of the song. Michael frowned at the odd sound and turned the volume down, cocking his head to listen more intently.

The car shook and rattled when something hit the roof. Michael jumped and looked wildly around for the source. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he craned his head outside the window to see above the car, but there was nothing there.

“What the fuck,” he said aloud, sitting back down. He gripped the wheel tight with one hand, heart speeding up in panic and confusion. Slowly peeling his foot off the break, the car began to inch forward once more.

Pain exploded in his arm, white hot agony racing from his forearm to his brain, lighting on fire all the nerves as it went. Michael screamed and slammed back on the brakes, yanking his arm back inside the vehicle, smearing freshly beaded blood all over the cloth interior and steering wheel. A large, gaping wound was opening up the muscle and sinew of his left forearm, running from wrist to crook of the elbow. Blood filled the crevice and overflowed into rivulets that streamed down onto the seats, pooling in the dips of the seat.

“J-Jesus Christ, oh my god, stop, stop,” Michael begged and tears burned his eyes. His vision flashed but without pausing, he covered his forearm with one hand. Pushing hard enough stemmed the flow slightly, but the pain was unbearable. His vision blurred before going stark white. A rushing in his ears drowned out his ragged pants, continuing even when his sight returned.

He fumbled for the wheel and slammed the gas. The car wrenched forward. Close to home – close to home, he’d make it –

But Michael’s hand had gone numb from the wrist down and with adrenaline coursing through his body, his grip on the steering wheel faltered. The nose of the car was pointing off the road and with his foot still heavy on the gas, the wheels were soon catapulting over the curb and into the grassy bank.

The airbag deployed and Michael’s vision going white was a little more permanent this time.

\---

Michael snapped into consciousness like a rubber band. Sticky tears blurred his vision. There was so much blood. Crimson stains smothered his arms and hands, collecting in the creases of his skin. It coated everything around him – the seat, the dashboard, even his fucking glasses.

He was still in the car.

A shiver wracked his frame before he could twitch. That same breeze he’d been enjoying earlier was cruel to him when stationary. His skin rose in goosebumps, breathing shaky and loud.

He lifted his head from the deflated airbag. Nausea made his stomach roll and a shiver made his teeth clack together.

“H-help,” he called hoarsely. It came out weaker than he expected; the seatbelt constricting his chest made it impossible to draw a good breath.

No one was going to hear that.

The car was tilted forward at a sharp angle, the nose buried in the shallow water at the bottom of the bank. Blood – his own cherry red blood – had collected between the window and dashboard. The sight of it made Michael dry heave. His chest hurt more and more each second.

Ignoring his injured arm, Michael unbuckled his seatbelt. His weight instantly fell against the steering wheel, knocking the already struggling breath from his lungs. He rolled to the side and opened the driver door, kicking it open and falling out.

Cold water consumed his head and flooded into his ears and nose and mouth. Shock caused him to immediately inhale the liquid into his lungs and with his one good hand, he pushed his head out of the water. Hacking out a lung right there in the ditch, Michael shifted to sit cross-legged, waist deep in water but uncaring.

It was concerning his muscles had already gone stiff from the wreck, but Michael was far more worried about the bleeding furrow on his arm. Blood fell sluggishly from the wound and collected in small, shiny drops on the top of the water, surrounding him in a scarlet halo.

Michael couldn’t get his feet under him, but he did manage to drag himself onto the dry bank. Wiry roots grabbed at his knees as he hauled himself out of the water and mud. He rolled onto his back, still submerged in the pond up to his knees, and stared at the ashen sky with cheeks tight from dried tears.

How long did he have to get treatment? Fuck – he should’ve listened to his teacher. Even if he couldn’t contract the avian disease that was disfiguring millions, he could very easily die from the initial infection. He may not sprout feathers, or, even more unlikely, grow full-born  _wings,_  but he wouldn’t make it through the twenty-four hours.

There was no doubt; he knew what had attacked him. “Fucking bird,” he breathed into the cooling air. The words were barely intelligible, slurred and stuttering due to his chattering teeth.

He had to abandon the car. It was a piece of shit, anyway. He buried his hands into the rubbery roots and pulled himself up until he was back onto the road. Asphalt was indifferent to his numb extremities, but his hands protested strongly as he pushed himself up to his feet.

A sharp pain lanced down the length of his back. Muscles pulled and strained, but it felt even deeper than that. Michael gasped aloud and froze. Something trickled down his lips, and he wondered if he was crying again.

But swiping his tongue across his lips, a strong, copper taste exploded on his tongue. Wiping his mouth, he stared down at the blood smeared along the back of his hand. His nose was bleeding.

He looked down at his arm; the wound was obscenely spread and oozing blood. Such a neat cut looked odd. There was no shrapnel or dirt in his skin because it hadn’t been caused by broken glass or crumpled dashboard.

He knew what it was from, and he knew what came next.

Michael told himself excuses all the way home.

\---

Ray walked into the classroom and realized he forgot to do the Journal Entry. Sitting down in his normal seat, he groaned in dread and pulled the uselessly empty notebook.

The class filled up quickly until the last of the stragglers trickled in. Ray frowned as the teacher closed the door to signal the start of class.

The seat next to him remained empty, even as the teacher walked back to her desk and began to take attendance. Her eyes lingered on Michael’s empty seat before she looked at Ray. Confusion crossed her expression, but she brushed it off and continued.

Ray felt uncomfortable with Michael’s absence the entire class. Michael was sick a  _lot_ but he didn’t miss class because of it. The only time he didn’t grace the class with his presence was when he was skipping with Ray or Lindsay, or if he was having one of his annoyingly scary ‘Michael days’, where he’d disappear off the face of the planet for twelve hours and pretend nothing happened the next morning.

This wasn’t a Michael day. His friend had been fine yesterday, showing none of the usual signs that a Michael day was approaching.

Ray buried himself in the coursework, getting more done than usual without his usual crime accomplice next to him. It made him a little sad, but at least he finished his homework during school hours.

Six hours later, he packed his things into his bag and went to his locker. Picking up his phone from the gum-covered bottom, his heart stopped at the message on the screen.

_14 MISSED CALLS FROM MICHAEL JONES_.

He couldn’t press the call back button fast enough, ignoring the fact that he was still inside the school.

Someone picked up, but there was no ‘yo’ to greet him.

“Michael?” Ray tried, confusion and worry warring with one another as he shoved his backpack into the locker. “You there?”

“Ray,” his friend whispered, the single word pleading and crackling from the bad connection.

“Where are you?” Ray demanded. “Why weren’t you at school today?”

“Can you come over?” Michael asked haltingly. Ray could tell his voice was hoarse as hell even through the fuzzy speaker.

“Come over?” Ray repeated, closing his locker. “Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well – I guess. Are you okay?”

The only reply was Michael’s jumpy breathing. Ray’s concern rocketed and he clutched the phone tighter to his ear, the clatter of students leaving for home disappearing. “Michael?”

“Just get here quick,” Michael finally said before hanging up.

\---

Ray didn’t bother knocking before he flung the door open.

“Michael?” he hollered, voice carrying up the empty staircase and echoing around the house. Michael’s mom and dad weren’t home during the day, leaving Michael alone.

A small shuffle was Ray’s only warning before a large thud shook the frame of the doorway. Ray sprinted up the stairs and raced into Michael’s bedroom, chest heaving and legs aching.

“Mi–” Ray started, huffing. His frightened shout died in his throat, however, when he spotted his friend sitting on the floor next to his bed, the bedside table knocked over. The lampshade was bent and broken on the tile and the clock was busted.

Michael, for his part, looked… completely fine.

“Michael, what the fuck?!” Ray exclaimed. “You scared the shit out of me! I fucking  _ran_ here, and you know these legs can’t exactly carry me very fast without a shitton of effort–”

“Ray,” Michael croaked, holding out his left arm. A thick, white bandage was swallowing up the majority of his forearm.

Ray stepped closer and sat down beside him. Michael held his arm out and Ray took it in his lap, inspecting the bandage. It was hospital-brand – nothing the Jones’ had in their household.

“You went to the hospital?” he asked, surprised. “What happened?”

“I – I got in a car accident,” Michael admitted, sounding unsure. Ray frowned, wondering if his friend was lying to him. “Nose-dived into a ditch.”

“Today?”

“No, yesterday. On the way home from school.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” Ray asked, annoyed.

“I actually, uh,” Michael stuttered, hesitating. He swallowed thickly before continuing, “I actually lost a lot of blood. I walked home and passed out in the doorway. My dad came home and took me to the hospital. They stitched me up and I got back sometime this morning.”

Ray’s eyebrows rose at the adventure Michael had been on while Ray had been playing video games and eating junk food. He was still frustrated that the redhead hadn’t thought to notify him or keep him, at least, updated, but Michael looked…  _strange_. He definitely didn’t look like Michael; he was folded in on himself, seeming uncertain and even a little sick.

“Woah,” Ray breathed, leaning back against the springs of the bed. Michael’s arm still rested in his lap, seemingly forgotten by its owner, and Ray took to gently holding his wrist. “What the hell happened? Why did you crash? Did someone hit you?”

“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I – I was at a stop sign. And… Ray. I think… I think a Green Jaw hit my car.”

Ray’s eyes widened, heart pounding. “What?” he said in shock, jumping slightly. “You were stopped and a Green Jaw hit your car?” He frowned. “Wait, then how did you end up in the ditch?”

Michael turned big, watery brown eyes on him. Ray’s breath caught in his throat.

“I didn’t cut my arm on the glass,” Michael whispered between them.

“Then what…” Ray trailed off, the words fading as realization bled into reality. His eyes fell to the bandage, as if it would prove him wrong. His fingers felt numb as he traced a line down the thickest section of bandages, where the injury likely lay. “You mean you think…”

“I did,” Michael said hurriedly, the words seeming to burst out. Ray jumped and Michael tried to contain himself. “I thought – no, I  _knew_ , but they ran my blood and it came back normal.”

Ray relaxed. “So you’re not…?”

“Ray, I don’t understand it,” Michael said shakily. “I  _know_ it was a Green Jaw. I was at the stop sign with the window down – and there were these thuds on the roof – and then something sliced up my arm. I didn’t get this during or after the wreck – this is what  _caused_ the wreck.”

Ray looked down again. He was surprised to find that his eyes were tearing up. The choked up quality of Michael’s voice was triggering a deep instinct buried somewhere in his gut, drawing tears to his eyes and anger to his mood. Some of it was directed at his friend.

“Okay, now I’m  _really_ mad you didn’t call me or something,” Ray said harshly, grip tightening on Michael’s arm. “You thought you were infected and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Michael started to retract his arm. “I still might be,” he said softly. Ray didn’t let go.

“They ran your blood. Even if you don’t have symptoms, it would’ve shown up on the tests.”

“You shouldn’t be sitting this close to me,” Michael said abruptly. His arm slid from Ray’s lap and scooting away. Ray followed, and the two repeated the dance until Michael had his back pressed up against the fallen bedside table.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ray scoffed and reached for Michael. “Dude, you don’t have it. You’re just scared and shaken up. C’mere.”

Though he didn’t fight, Michael watched him with something akin to distrust as the brunette shifted them around until Michael was half-laying in Ray’s lap, head pillowed on one thigh. Ray happily carded his hands through his friend’s hair, knowing Michael liked it especially when he scritched the spot near the back.

True to form, Michael’s eyes instantly clouded over in bliss. Ray could feel his shoulders go lax, muscles molding to the shape of Ray’s crossed legs. A sigh escape Michael’s parted lips.

“Is the car okay?” Ray wondered aloud.

“No,” Michael said honestly. “Windshield is cracked and covered in blood. The bumper is a little fucked up, too.”

Ray hummed in thought and continued to play with Michael’s hair.

Okay, so their friendship was a little… past the line of friendship. Ray had yet to take the leap with him, but in the meantime, he could enjoy the simple things with Michael, like headrubs and the occasional watching of porn together.

“Why do you think I didn’t get infected?” Michael eventually asked when the silence began to drag. Fear was still clammy in his tone, but Ray had done his job and done his job  _good_ ; Michael had melted, half-asleep, in his lap.

“I don’t know,” Ray said, shrugging. “Maybe you’re immune. I mean, even if you had the second genetic marker – which is rare as shit – it would’ve shown up on the test, right?”

Michael snorted softly. “Yeah. I doubt that out of the entire population of the US, I’m the only one immune to avianism.”

“Then what’s your explanation?” Ray said, flicking him gently on the forehead.

“I’m not sure,” Michael said, brow furrowing. Ray had to smooth it out with his fingers repeatedly. “I know I didn’t imagine it. Maybe it’s just latent, and the symptoms will appear out of the blue tomorrow. I’ll finally be the fucking angel that was inside of me all along.”

They both laughed, but Ray could make out the true fear in Michael’s words.

“I don’t think that’s right either,” he said, pinching the redhead’s nose to lighten the mood. Michael blinked up at him, pupils large. “Hey – you’re not on pain medication, are you?”

“Some,” Michael said shiftily.

“Of course. Great – painkiller-Michael is a worrywart. That doesn’t surprise me,” Ray laughed. “You’re emotionless otherwise. An asshole has to have  _something_ to worry over.”

“I’m not emotionless,” Michael said quickly. His cheeks flushed red, throwing his freckles out in contrast, and he suddenly found something very interesting to stare at on the ceiling.

Ray’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah?” he ventured, leaning down. Brown eyes met his, wary and surprised. They locked gazes and the room seemed to warm several degrees. “What are you emotional about?”

This close and he could hear Michael’s gulp. “Well,” the redhead said, voice ragged. “I’m really passionate about video games.”

Ray nodded in agreement, bringing their faces even closer together. He could see the softer-shaded freckles from this close; he could blink and see the shape of Michael’s lips like a burn on his brain. “Anything else?” he questioned airily.

“No,” Michael breathed, tilting his chin a fraction. His eyes were no longer locked with Ray’s; they flicked down every few seconds to appraise his lips. “No, that’s about it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ray murmured in response, leaning so their lips were a hair’s width apart. He could feel Michael breathing. “Because I’m really emotional about you.”

Michael surged upwards and connected their lips. Ray’s brain screeched to a stop, chest exploding in heat. He dipped down even more to more thoroughly taste Michael, boldly allowing his tongue to trace the unique, lush curve of Michael’s upper lip. He even slipped in twice, though not very far. The softness of the redhead’s lips drew a contented sigh from Ray’s lungs.

As far as first kisses go, it was tame. No lewd tongue action, no clanking of teeth.

But the smile they shared after parting was something that would always stay just between them.

\---

Ray slept over that night after a quick call home to mom. They did nothing but play video games and talk about the character arc of Sheppard, but Michael had greatly unwound since first calling Ray.

It was about three in the morning when the first nose bleed struck.

They’d settled on Halo after little argument. Ray was a CoD fan, but Michael knew he’d get his ass destroyed in a match against him and offered Halo as a compromise.

“Ray you fucking cocksuck,” Michael laughed when his character collapsed into a heap after being assassinated from behind. “How the hell did you do that? We’re split screening!”

“What can I say? I’m good,” Ray said cheekily, turning to stick his tongue out. His grin faded, however, when he saw a small, red liquid trickling unnoticed down Michael’s upper lip. “Holy shit, your nose is bleeding.”

Michael frowned in confusion, touching his upper lip. He looked even more bewildered at the sight of blood coating his fingers.

“Here,” Ray said, supplying him a wad of Dunkin Donut napkins. “That was weird,” he said when Michael finished mopping it up. “Probably the airbags from your car.”

“They did say I had a minor concussion,” Michael confessed, ducking his head at Ray’s narrowed eyes.

Smacking his friend’s arm, Ray sighed. “I’m not surprised. That car was from what – the 70s? The airbags were probably a few years past their expiration date.”

“I didn’t think airbags had expiration dates, Ray,” Michael said with a grin.

He picked up his controller to once more start the game and the incident was forgotten within seconds of Ray showing Michael no mercy over a game of Halo.

\---

The left side of Ray’s face was uncomfortably warm. It roused him from lazy dreams well into the morning.

He blinked and got an eyeful of skin: the freckled expanse of Michael’s chest. His cheeks flushed, but he didn’t move. Michael was still deeply asleep; his soft snores reverberated through his ribcage and up into Ray’s ear.

Sometime during the night he’d wound his arms around Michael’s waist and pulled him close. Michael slept clad only in pajama bottoms, the waistbands of which were visible above the bedsheets and suggestively low on his hips.

Ray felt his face grow warmer and decided that oogling his best friend was  _not_ how he should be spending his Saturday morning. Carefully, he retracted his arms and pushed away.

Something sticky and cold molested the back of his neck as he shifted further up the bed. He cringed and sat up completely, wiping away whatever cool liquid had settled on his skin.

His hand came away caked in wet, rust-colored globs. Ray looked around.

“Michael! Michael, wake up!” Ray wailed, vigorously shaking the redhead’s shoulder.  “Michael, you nasty asshole, I have nose blood all over me!”

“Wha…?” Michael groaned, peeling open an eye to stare at Ray. Seconds later, he bolted upright.

Michael’s face was covered in a thin sheet of flaking blood. The sheets and pillow were saturated. Sometime during the night, he must’ve had another nose bleed.

Michael looked at him, then, and under the layer of blood his skin was bone-white. Ray’s annoyance vanished and alarm took its place.

“Jesus, are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – yeah, Christ, sorry,” Michael mumbled, wiping his nose more furiously. Embarrassment was encompassing his expression.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ray admonished. “It’s not like you fucking wet the bed or anything.”

Michael scowled at him but said nothing. Ray pushed his shoulder to get him out of bed.

“Come on, let’s take these sheets off. That is  _never_ going to come out, but it looks like a damn murder scene.”

Michael wordlessly helped strip the bed and tossed the crusty remains in the washer. His parents were once again gone. Ray marveled at how they’d spend the entire night in isolation; Michael’s parents hadn’t even come to check on him, even after being in a car wreck not a day before.

For his part, Michael didn’t seem bothered. The novelty of having utterly uncaring parents had long worn off for him.

Emerging from the wash with a clean face, Michael grinned sheepishly. “So are you staying a little longer or going home?”

Ray didn’t hesitate. “I’ll stay, if that’s cool. You need someone to tell you to wipe the blood off your face.”

Michael laughed. “Cool, then you can help me change this stupid bandage. Oh and can I copy yesterday’s homework from you?”

\---

Weeks later, something odd landed on Michael’s test paper.

If it hadn’t just fallen from his hair, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. Small, poofy, and red, it sat innocently next to question four. Michael stared at it, baffled.

“Did that just–” he said aloud in a hushed voice, narrowing his eyes at the offending piece of fluff. He picked it up with careful fingers and held it to the light.

It was a feather. Only as big as his thumbnail and fuzzy around the edges, it flattened between the pads of his fingers.

A leaden feeling of dread settled low in his gut. He flicked the feather away violently, as if it hadn’t just sprouted from his own scalp, and used the tissue already sitting on his desk to clean up the small amount of blood trickling from his nostrils.

He stuffed the bloodied tissues into the side pocket of his backpack with the other, older ones. He eyed them with dull anger, as if they were somehow the cause of his sudden, extensive nosebleeds.

Tapping his pencil against the desk, Michael longed for a shower.

Showering after a heavy nosebleed was always a satisfying, yet horrifying, experience. Blowing out the congealed clots caused them to splatter across the walls and curtain. It looked like the climax of a horror movie but relieved the painful tension in his head somewhat.

Something Michael had barely taken notice of were the two, medium-sized bumps sitting just under his shoulder blades. They, he thought, most likely accounted for the persistent soreness, but he couldn’t identify what had caused them and they couldn’t be popped.

Michael usually spent at least forty minutes in the shower, swaying under the spray as it massaged his tender back. In the evening hours, the soreness under his shoulder blades grew until Michael couldn’t stand it anymore, and he’d both self-medicate and waste time in the shower. The scorching heat was the only thing that could pound the ache right out of his muscles.

It was even worse today. The back of his neck strained as if a cement block was tied to his head. Even his ribcage was throbbing like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the fragile bones. The back of his  _arms_ burned.

And it was only noon.

Ray said it was the car accident he’d been in, though Michael admittedly downplayed the amount of pain he was in. There was a long, purpled bruise across his chest from the seatbelt and his armpits were sprained to high hell, but Michael knew his other symptoms were not born from wrecking his car.

Groaning quietly, Michael dropped his pencil onto the paper and cracked his fingers. Feeling restless, he then interlocked them and stretched backwards over the chair to crack his back.

There was a sickeningly loud snap.

Michael’s eyes widened, mouth falling open. Students surrounding him looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. Ray’s eyes, however, were instantly on him.

The pain was greatly delayed, allowing Michael to bolt from his chair. He was out the door and down the hall in seconds flat. His legs carried him on autopilot, some instinct buried deeply in his brain instructing him to seek out privacy.

He found a bathroom and didn’t even bother checking for occupants. Michael crumpled to the floor on his hands and knees. The collision with the tile didn’t register in his mind as searing agony spread across the expanse of his back. In an attempt to relieve the pressure, he ripped off his shirt and threw it to the side.

Water under his elbows caused him to slip and slide. He struggled to right himself, but another wave of pain ripped down his spine.

_I popped the bumps_ , Michael thought wildly. He screamed into his hands, desperately trying to quell the sound, lest someone come investigate.  _Or broke my back_.

The nerves in his back were singing in waves, burning and set alight by whatever wrong movement Michael had made. The skin itself felt as if a white-hot flame was being washed upon it, crisping the flesh and melting it into the sinewy muscle below. The vertebrae boiled and welded together under a searing heat with no source.

His screams died off as he gasped for breath. Ribcage tight, air was barely making it past his lips. Though, perhaps he should’ve welcomed the absence of air. With it, unconsciousness would’ve blessed him with forgiving peace.

But Michael fucking  _fought_ for that breath. He managed to suck in teaspoons of air, just enough to keep his head from spinning from lack of oxygen. Instead it spun from a dizzying amount of pain.

He thought maybe he’d thrown up, because something was splattering across his cheeks and splashing against the tile. But then it slicked down the back of his neck and soaked his hair – it was even running into his ears, eyes, and mouth. It tasted like tangy metal and even in his distraught state, Michael knew it was blood.

His elbows gave out. Face pressed into the growing puddle of blood, he choked out cries for help, words bubbling in the liquid. Crimson-stained fingers scrabbled against the tile, looking for grip and finding none.

Pressure built and built until finally, with a grand arch of his back, a god-awfully loud series of pops occurred, and suddenly a flood of relief swept through him.

Exposed and exhausted, Michael panted heavily into the bathroom floor. His back was still finely flayed and throbbing, but the worst of the episode seemed to be over. His spine was being pulled in two directions and his ribcage felt oddly concaved.

Pain was still traveling in shivers up and down his body, but his mind had cleared. With shaky hands, Michael managed to push himself up. He wobbled and nearly toppled.

The weight was unevenly distributed. Something was lopsidedly weighing him down on either side.

“Michael,” a voice whispered. Michael didn’t have time to react – he probably wouldn’t have been able to. A gentle, trembling hand brushed like a feather on the skin of his side. “Michael – b-breathe, don’t… don’t suffocate.”

At the instruction, Michael wheezed in a few shallow breaths. His chest strained with the effort, but he took comfort in the hand now resting lightly on his ribs. Amidst all the cold tiles and cooling blood, Michael welcomed the one warm source of solace.

“Michael,” the voice said again, and this time Michael recognized it as Ray’s. His relief increased tenfold.

“Ray,” he choked back, blinking liquid out of his eyes. There was still a pink film covering his vision when he finally managed to look at Ray.

He’d never seen the brunette so pale. Big, worried brown eyes reflected what must’ve been a horrific image, but they were focused somewhere over Michael’s back. Probably where the lumps had popped. Ray’s lips were parted in shocked panic.

“Wh–” Michael started, before shuddering. His skin broke out in goosebumps. “Wh–”

Michael didn’t have to finish. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a few moments, Ray finally said, “You… your back just…” But even he couldn’t answer.

Ray was going to be useless. Michael worked to get his hands under himself until he was kneeling on the bathroom floor. He almost tipped over backwards. His back must’ve been quite literally split apart, because something was hanging from his frame throwing him off kilter.

Wordlessly, Ray helped him to his feet. Michael was unstable on his feet, but Ray gently pushed him towards the row of mirrors.

Blood covered Michael’s face, diluted slightly by the sweat coating his skin. The amount shocked him. It was all down his arms and drenching his shirt. Even his hair was cooling in scarlet clumps.

But nearly everything standing in the mirror before him grayed out in comparison to the slaughter house that was his back.

From the lumps, two long, spindle-like structures had emerged, covered by a thick, pearly white ooze. They were a pale alabaster and resembled what Michael imagined a freshly picked skeleton would look like.

They branched out perpendicularly for nearly a foot until they folded in half, where they continued for another foot or so. Thin prongs forked at equal intervals down the second half, spindly and macabre. It reminded Michael of one of his favorite films,  _The_   _Nightmare Before Christmas_. Like Jack Skellington’s fucking fingers.

Michael stared at the deformities for a long, long time. It wasn’t until Ray cleared his throat that Michael was jolted out of his revolted revere.

And then, classic Ray:

“So… I guess you have that second genetic marker, huh?”

\---

As a teacher, Geoff often spent a lot of his time scouring the halls, but as a  _survivor_ , he spend more of it looking for ways to avoid talking to his coworkers, and he definitely hadn’t been looking for some newly hatched little twerp during fourth period, but life had a funny way of working out.

The hallways were nearly empty during fourth since most students were in first lunch or class. Geoff usually had no issues with students out of bounds, but the second he saw Michael Jones sprinting out of a classroom, he knew he might get the chance to harangue one of his favorite students.

Geoff stalked him at a slow pace, frowning when Michael entered the men’s bathroom. It might be seen as creepy if he were to follow so he waited outside.

The sound of brittle bones snapping was audible even from the hallway. Geoff jumped.

It jarred a distant memory. His wings, under his clothes and flush against his spine, gave a hearty sympathy twitch.

_Michael Jones_?

Geoff’s heart began to race. Muffled screaming barely echoed in the tiled room, but someone was definitely screaming. He leaned closer.

Something smacked into the back of Geoff’s shoulder. He got a glimpse of his other favorite student, Ray Narvaez Jr., before the younger disappeared into the bathroom as well.

Something dropped in Geoff’s stomach and he peeked around the corner.

The sight that met him, though jarring, wasn’t surprising.

The familiarities of the scene made his stomach flip and roll, though this seemed a little more…  _violent_ than Geoff remembered. In fact, out of all of the converting Geoff had witnessed – which would be three, including his – this was the most explosive.

He shouldn’t have watched it all, but morbid curiosity and genuine concern for the lad won out. If one of the wings came in crooked, or got stuck under the skin, then it would need to be manually spread. But Michael always managed to surprise him, and much like in every class Geoff had with him, he succeeded without trying. Both wings extended beautifully, albeit fresh and bald.

Geoff’s eyebrows shot up. They were… surprisingly large for a newborn. They couldn’t have been under development long; Geoff would’ve noticed earlier and the bumps would’ve been much larger had he been in the later stages. Michael was an early bloomer.

Geoff smirked. No surprise there.

He watched as Ray helped his friend up and to the mirror, where Michael’s face went slack. He quietly appraised his new appendages, looking just seconds away from a heart attack.

Something thrilling and shaky stirred in Geoff’s stomach at the sight of Michael with a pair of thickly-threaded, weak wings. Foreboding gave way to selfish excitement.

Geoff could’ve been convincing himself of this, but… he always knew something was special about those two. Never before had he struck such a friendship with two students.

He moved closer in time to hear Ray’s weak attempt at rationalizing the situation, and gave Michael a shaky thumbs up for not dying. Geoff snickered to himself, but Michael didn’t even crack a smile. He was frozen before the mirror, eyes glued to the motionless and awkward limbs.

They needed to be cleaned and stretched. Geoff’s fingers twitched. Michael would undoubtedly do it incorrectly, and Ray didn’t look any more experienced than Michael.

“Boys,” Geoff called, as softly as possible. Ray whipped his head around and stepped to stand in front of Michael, shielding him from view. Michael, meanwhile, didn’t break eye contact with the mirror.

“Mr. Ramsey!” Ray just about squeaked. “We’re kind of – busy, this is private, can you give us a sec?”

“If you wanted privacy, you shouldn’t have picked the bathrooms,” Geoff said dryly, sidestepping Ray. Michael was looking at him, then, shell-shocked and vacant. Geoff shrugged off his jacket and, ignoring the flinch, wrapped the entirety of Michael’s torso – wings included – in a tight bundle. “Here. We can take my classroom for now.”

“What?” Ray demanded. “You’re not – even going to  _ask_?”

Geoff stared at him. “Do you really think I have to?”

Ray stared at him open-mouthed, eyes trailing to graze over the flat of Geoff’s back and said nothing. He obediently followed after Geoff and had to grab Michael’s hand to get the redhead to walk with them.

Geoff shuffled them to the classroom and practically shoved them in. He locked the door.

“Ramsey, what–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Should I call you  _Geoff_?” Ray said challengingly.

Geoff barked out a laugh. “We’re about to be on a first name basis,” he promised. Guiding Michael by the shoulders, he plopped the redhead into a chair, but not before taking the jacket. The inside lining was ruined with blood and prep liquid.

“Sorry about that,” Michael said numbly, the three words small and disorientated. It was the first time he’d spoken.

“It’s fine, it’ll wash off,” Geoff lied. He threw it to the side. “How are you feeling?”

Michael slowly blinked at him, processing the words. “I’m feeling…” He swallowed. “Like I just broke my fucking spine. Did my back just explode?”

Geoff laughed. “Something like that.”

Michael hummed. “It’s weird to hear you not reprimanding me for cussing,” he said, smacking his lips. Geoff frowned. Michael was still in shock.

“Watch your mouth,” Geoff replied distractedly. “Okay – I don’t have time to explain everything like I want, but your wings need stretching and cleaning. Otherwise, your life is going to suck in about an hour when it dries.”

Michael’s empty expression faltered. “Cleaning?”

“Don’t worry,” Geoff assured. “It’s going to actually feel really good – like getting a shower.”

“I have a shower at my house,” Michael said with a pained expression. He glanced down. “And shirts.”

“You’d fuck it up,” Geoff said, not bothering to censor himself. “You don’t scrub or use soap. The skin is too sensitive.”

“What skin,” Ray muttered. Geoff glared at him over his shoulder. Ray splayed his hands. “What? His…  _wings_ are about as bare as a baby’s ass.”

“Which is why no soap,” Geoff said. He eyed Ray. “Your nose is bleeding, by the way.”

Ray growled out unintelligible curses as he hunted around the room for a box of tissues. Geoff turned back to Michael.

“This is going to feel…” Geoff searched for the word. “Intimate.”

Michael watched him circle around with wide eyes, pupils dilating. Standing behind the lad, Geoff made sure not to startle him by placing a hand on his shoulder. Very, very carefully, he slid it down the shaft of Michael’s wing and pulled it over the back of the chair for better access. When Michael didn’t flinch or move away, Geoff did the same for the other one.

“Er – Ray, could you do me a favor?” Geoff asked, not looking at the brunette. Ray replied with an affirmative noise. “Just, uh, sit in front of him. Actually – no. Can you get him some water? He’s probably thirsty. ”

“Just too dumb to realize it?” Ray said light-heartedly.

“Probably,” Geoff laughed. “There’s an empty water bottle on my desk.”

When Ray returned from the water fountain, he pulled up a chair in front of Michael and handed him the drink. Then, he looked his friend in the eye and proceeded to have some sort of silent conversation.

“You better fucking thank me for this,” Geoff grumbled to Michael. “The last time I did this, the person got a boner.”

He hadn’t expected an awkward silence and wasn’t surprised. Michael and Ray both broke into laughter.

“No promises,” he thought he heard Michael say. The words were lost in a hiss as Geoff started to straighten his left wing. Geoff cursed his timing.

“I really need a bucket,” Geoff said after wiping his slimy hands on his pants.

“What  _is_ that stuff?” Ray asked.

“It’s just preparation fluid,” Geoff said easily. “To lube up the exit so it’s less painful.”

Michael barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, real fuckin’ painless.”

Geoff shrugged. “It can only go so far. But, yeah, I need a bucket. And a hose.”

Michael jerked forward. “A hose?”

Geoff was quick to let go; he knew how tender that part of the body was when just out of the flesh. “Unless you’d rather it take five hours, yeah, a fucking hose.”

“You’re spoiling my virgin ears,” Michael said in a tight voice. He’d suddenly stiffened up in discomfort. Geoff let go of his wing completely and Michael relaxed slightly.

“Calm down,” he told him. “This normally feels great, but if you start clenching your asshole, it’s going to feel like I’m molesting you.”

Michael wisely stayed quiet. Geoff could tell he was making an attempt to relax. Trying again, Geoff carefully handed the thin end of Michael’s left wing and pulled it outward. It rebelled against him and a hiss escaped Michael’s throat.

“This isn’t working,” Geoff sighed, once more letting go.

“I’m not surprised,” Ray drawled. “We’re at school: the least relaxed place on Earth.”

Geoff frowned. “Yeah.” He glanced at the time. “Second lunch is about to end and I have a class to teach after.”

Michael turned around and looked at him with a desperate expression while Ray sent him a pleading look. It satisfied Geoff more than he’d like to admit. Michael, the mouthy, smartass kid and Ray, the clever, sarcastic kid in his six period class needed him.

Not for the first time, he had to mentally calculate the age difference between the two boys and him.

Shaking his head to banish the thoughts, Geoff said, “I can call in an emergency substitute.”

\---

Michael had never been to a teacher’s house, but he hadn’t expected it to be so  _nice_.

Ray voiced his suspicions. “Are you sure you’re just a teacher?”

“I’ve taught you for three years,” Geoff replied, locking the front door behind them. “What do you think?”

“I think that you’re  _part_ teacher,” Ray said, looking around at the furnished banister on the stairs and the widescreen TV set up in the living room. There were consoles of all brands underneath the cable box. Ray’s eyes widened. “Woah.”

Geoff’s eyes glittered. “You like video games?”

Michael groaned. “Like isn’t a strong enough word. More like bound by will to complete every game that has achievements.”

Ray nodded along with his words, still studying the gaming systems.

“He’s going to want to check out your games,” Michael told Geoff, who looked faintly worried now.

“He can do that while I tend to you,” Geoff said. The words made Michael shiver. Ray glanced between them, cheeks pink. Michael didn’t miss the tips of Geoff’s ears going red.

_This is so bad_.

Ray ran off to browse the teacher’s video game collection. Geoff, meanwhile, corralled Michael into the nearest bathroom.

“We have all of the necessary materials in here,” Geoff said with a smile as Michael sat on the toilet with the lid down.

“Don’t talk teacher to me while I’m in your house,” Michael muttered.

“Deal,” Geoff said before looking at his own back in the mirror. He had to find the slits to release his wings from their cramped position. Two charcoal feathers fell to the floor as his fully matured wings unfolded. There wasn’t enough room in the bathroom to fully stretch out, but just being out of the t-shirt was exceptionally better.

He turned back to Michael with a smug smile at the look of pure disbelief encompassing the redhead’s face. Eyes as wide as saucers, Michael leaned away from him when he stepped closer. Geoff stopped dead.

“They aren’t scary,” he said calmly, spinning to show off his feathery appendages.

They were much larger than Michael’s little baby wings. Ebony feathers rippled down in currents. They were soft as dicks. Geoff was hit with the urge to let Michael – or Ray – run his fingers through them. It was something he felt a lot while in a class with them.

Then he suddenly realized that he finally could. Moving closer, he extended one wing to Michael. He offered the bulk of the limb, keeping the tips low.

Michael didn’t even seem to hesitate. He eagerly reached forward and brushed fingertips against the smooth surface. Digging a little deeper, he buried his hand in between the feathers to feel the thin membrane of skin that stretched between tongs.

Michael’s wings had yet to grow such a membrane, but Geoff was surprised to see the tongs already a foot long. Seeming to have forgotten about his own wings completely, Michael was engrossed in feeling along the sleek feathers, occasionally dipping in and scratching lightly along the skin. Geoff shivered in pleasure but said nothing.

“I’ve heard the rumors, but I’ve never seen them in person,” Michael murmured, almost to himself. His voice was light with wonder.

Glancing at the clock, Geoff cursed. The prep fluid on Michael’s wings was going to start hardening soon. He’d made that mistake with Gavin and he’d ended up with a very pissed off, pain-filled Brit in his lap as Geoff chipped away at his wings with scissors and needles.

“So what do you need to do?” Michael asked eventually, looking up. His hands continued to caress Geoff’s wing. He’d practically pulled it into his lap.

“Clean and stretch,” Geoff answered.

“Which first?”

“Clean,” Geoff said, glancing once more at the clock. “Usually I’d say stretch, but time is short. It won’t hurt, I promise. It’ll feel great.”

Michael looked nervous but allowed Geoff to sit behind him, on the lip of the tub. Gripping Michael’s wings firmly on the underside, Geoff pulled them away from Michael’s body. No hiss of discomfort came this time and Geoff smiled.

Running the water until it was comfortably warm, he wet a towel and began his methodical practice.

With no feathers, it was significantly easier to clean. He wiped away all of the blood and prep liquid until just pinkish white skin remained. It was paler than the skin of Michael’s back and heated to the touch.

“Who got a boner from this?” Michael asked curiously as Geoff started on the second wing. “I mean – not that I am. Getting a boner. But you’re right – it feels great. Like finally washing off dried mud.”

“Jack, my, uh, friend, needed his wings stretched a lot,” Geoff answered.

“Your ‘uh’ friend?” Michael said, placing an emphasis on the word ‘uh’. Geoff’s face twitched. “Will I meet this ‘uh’ friend?”

Geoff’s heart leapt. “Maybe. Okay, stretch-time. This part is what usually feels fantastic. Sometimes it hurts, but that’s only if they’ve been under the skin for a long time. And I don’t think that’s an issue.”

Michael was silent, almost eerily so.

Geoff didn’t push it. He took the right wing and very carefully extended it. It was small enough to completely open without touching the shower wall, but it was still larger than normal, with a thick base and long spindles.

“God, these fuckers are going to be huge,” Geoff murmured to himself.

“So… wings…” Michael said awkwardly, shifting. “Is it possible to have the gene for it and not realize?”

“Usually it happens in low-income areas because they don’t get tested, but usually they know.”

“Can you… explain it to me a bit more?” Michael said desperately.

“Long version or short version?”

“I’m dumb. Short,” Michael said instantly.

“Avianism reactions vary between contaminations, but in every case, it will always create glands in your body that begin to produce chemicals not usually found in the human body. One of them is a growth hormone for these guys,” Geoff squeezed Michael’s wing gently. “What is so shitty about this disease is that is basically has a nice multiple-choice list of ways to kill you.”

Michael shook his head. “Either you die from the infection, or the tumors…”

Michael’s back tightened, causing his wings to yank in Geoff’s hands.

“That’s what the lumps were,” Michael whispered in sudden enlightenment. “God, I’m so stupid. I didn’t pay attention to the fucking class and now I’m…”

“It’s not a bad thing, Michael,” Geoff said calmly. “It’s like an immunity.”

Michael snorted. “Clearly not, since these…  _things_  just grew out of my body.”

“It’s an immunity from death,” Geoff clarified. “Everyone else who contracts the disease dies, Michael. You got very lucky.”

Michael sighed again, but it was more pleasured than the last one. Geoff grinned, tweaking that spot again. He could see a shiver wrack the younger man’s frame.

Geoff worked in silence the rest of the stretching, deciphering Michael’s complex expressions of pleasure and pain until he was aptly hitting each sweet spot. He rebounded on each wing four times each until they were completely lax against Geoff’s chest.

Michael slumped forward after half an hour of blissful massaging. He propped his face on the bathroom countertop and closed his eyes, utterly at ease. Geoff happily continued working until he coaxed out every ounce of tension that the wings had carried.

There was a quiet knock on the bathroom that made Geoff jump. Michael’s breathing didn’t even change.

Jack, though obviously confused, stood in the doorway with a small smile, eyes gleaming.

“Having fun?” he teased quietly.

“Yes, actually,” Geoff whispered back. “This is my favorite part.”

Jack walked further into the bathroom and leaned against the wall, eyes roaming Michael’s body. Then he glanced back at the doorway, where Ray was standing. He looked distantly concerned for his friend, but Geoff was surprised to see that he, too, was far more relaxed.

Geoff looked warily at Jack, unsure of what he’d told Ray. “You’re home early.”

“Got off early,” Jack countered. “Came home to see a high schooler playing video games on my couch. He’s beaten all of our high scores, but he’s also gotten a lot of the achievements we’ve been missing.”

Geoff looked at Ray with half-mad, half-amused eyes. Ray shrugged. “Shouldn’t have left me alone in there.”

“That’s true, Ray will destroy any game he gets a hold of,” Michael murmured into the cabinet.

Geoff let Michael’s wing slid from between his fingers. He chuckled at the low whine the redhead emitted at the loss. “That should feel better.”

“Fucking loads,” Michael groaned, still slouched forward.

“Alright, well you’re done,” Geoff laughed, pushing Michael’s wings back towards his spine. Like an accordion, they bounced back. Geoff stood up. “School’s still in session, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s like five o’clock,” Jack said, brow furrowed.

“Fuck,” Geoff cursed, washing his hands in the sink. He glanced down. “Don’t fall asleep there. Or drool on the cabinets.”

“’M not,” Michael slurred.

“That’s code for I’m about to pass out on your floor,” Ray said. “Also, do you have any food? Asking for me, not for him.”

Geoff eyeballed him. “Sure, make yourself at home,” he said. Ray grinned and ignored the sarcasm, bounding off into the house. Geoff looked at Jack. “Can you watch him to make sure he doesn’t try and cook anything? I have a feeling he’s not much of a chef.”

“He’s not,” Michael said, cracking an eye open. He didn’t seem to mind the sudden presence of Jack. Geoff smugly grinned at the bearded man, proud of his skillful fingers. Jack rolled his eyes and smiled at Michael.

“Hi, I’m Jack.”

Geoff snorted at the polite introduction. That was going to work well with Michael.

But to his surprise, Michael’s cheeks pinked slightly and he sat up straighter. Wiping the drool away from his mouth, he said, “Er – I’m Michael. It’s, uh, nice to meet you. Sorry for… barging in.”

Geoff stared at him while Jack preened.

“No problem, Michael. I have to go help your friend with lunch, but we’ll talk more later,” Jack said before winking. He left before Michael could stutter out an appropriate response.

“Is everyone in this house suggestive and lewd?” Michael muttered angrily, furiously scrubbing his face. His cheeks had flushed fully.

“Just wait till Ryan gets here,” Geoff replied haughtily. He offered Michael a towel.

“How many men do you live with?” Michael asked in disbelief, wiping his face. Despite having washed off in the school bathroom before leaving, there were still smatterings of blood in his hair and on his neck.

Geoff grinned crookedly. “Three. Gavin isn’t particularly suggestive, but he likes to milk jokes.”

Michael didn’t seem to know how to digest those words, but he nodded anyway and handed back the towel.

“Hungry?” Geoff offered. Michael nodded. “Good. We have leftovers out the butthole.”

\---

As soon as the bearded man sat next to him on the couch, Ray realized that his multiple-crush status was beginning to fuck him.

Michael was his most serious – not to mention reachable – crush. Geoff was his older man crush that was the kinkiest thing in which Ray had been involved. And now Jack was his cuddly crush, where he wanted the tingle of Jack’s beard in intimate places and feel those big arms curled around his waist.

Ray wanted to hit himself in the head with the Xbox controller.

_You kinky fuck, chill out. You have a chance with Michael – don’t fuck it up_.

Puttering around in the kitchen, Ray took Geoff’s derisive words to heart. Jack watched nervously from the barstools, beer in hand.

“So how old are you?” Jack said randomly.

“Eighteen,” Ray answered, getting out a bowl and pouring some cereal.

“And Michael is the same age?”

“Yep. We’re both seniors.”

“In any of Geoff’s classes?”

Ray grinned. “Yeah, sixth period. We’re his last class.”

Jack’s eyes widened fractionally and his cheeks immediately flushed. He burst into laughter. “Wait – you’re  _the_ sixth period!”

Geoff materialized before Jack finished talking. “Shut up!” he threatened to Jack.

“No, no, continue!” Michael crowed next to him, grinning. He was adorned in what must’ve been one of Geoff’s band shirts. Ray smiled. His friend was substantially less tense. The tight lines around his eyes had vanished and – damn. Those  _wings_ were looking creepier and creepier as time went on.

If they were to turn out like Geoff’s, however, Ray couldn’t complain. Geoff’s wings were  _beautiful_ , like something out of a fantasy movie and he ached to touch them, but he knew it would be rude.

“I’ve heard a loooot about Geoff’s sixth period,” Jack said cryptically, taking a long chug of bear. “That’s all I’ll say.”

Geoff glowered at him while Ray poured his milk. Michael slid up next to him and stole at least half of the spoonfuls.

Ray didn’t know how he’d found himself sitting in his favorite teacher’s kitchen, but it was a sweetly domestic atmosphere. Even with Geoff – and later, Jack’s – extra additions hanging out for Ray to stare at.

Jack’s wings were built with thicker feathers and a more bulky frame than Geoff’s. The shades resembled that of his hair. Ray’s fingers itched to brush through the feathers, but he forced down the urges.

Michael, it seemed, had no such restrictions.

Each time he was within arm’s reach of one of the older men’s wings, he would take the opportunity to run his fingers against the root or in the soft downy. Looking at Michael’s skeleton wings, Ray wondered when they’d start to fill in with feathers. He looked forward to it.

Ray didn’t have much experience with survivors; he’d never seen any in real life, not counting his teacher. On TV, the wings had always looked so fake. Now, however, looking at the wings in person, Ray felt largely out of his depth.

Traces of the animalistic structures were all over the house. Feathers of many colors could be found on the couch or on the floor. They were in the cabinets and on top of the TV and gaming systems. There were even some in game cases.

It was fascinating, and he felt nothing but curiosity and a strange eagerness to study, but when Geoff and Jack sat  _him_ down after lunch and told him that he was most likely infected, too–

“If I was infected, I would’ve died by now,” Ray said, shaking his head and laughing. He held up his hands.

“You and Michael spend all of your time together,” Geoff pointed out. “We want you to get tested for the second genetic marker.”

Ray’s blood ran cold. “What – and see if I’m going to die or not? No thanks.”

“If you haven’t shown symptoms, it’s more likely you’ve got the second marker,” Jack said calmingly.

“That’s not true,” Ray scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “Symptoms sometimes don’t show up for months. Getting tested positive would just put me in the terminal ward if it turns out I only have the first marker.”

Geoff and Jack looked at each other.

Sniffing from his seat next to Ray, Michael said, “How do you spread it again? Can I still spread it to him?”

“Fluids, so things like blood, saliva – basically anything that comes out of your body,” Jack said.

Ray’s stomach sank as he and Michael shared glances. Both of them remembered exchanging a kiss on the floor of Michael’s floor two weeks ago. Ray’s lips went numb.

“I… that may’ve happened,” Michael stammered, averting his eyes from everyone in the room. “I also had a lot of nosebleeds that he helped me clean up.”

“You fucking bled all over me!” Ray exclaimed, though he couldn’t find himself to be angry at his friend. They hadn’t known how the virus could be transmitted. The wild thought of STD’s crossed Ray’s mind. “And – we kissed – I’m… is there a possibility that I wasn’t infected?”

Jack grimaced. “It doesn’t sound like it.”

There was a long silence. Ray focused on calming his shaky breathing, clenching his fists and staring at his lap. Awkwardness descended on the group. Clearly no one knew how to comfort Ray. It was a situation none had been in – usually, people infected already knew what was going to happen to them.

Ray, however, was suddenly facing the very real possibility of death.

“Wait,” Geoff blurted abruptly. “Ray – you had a nosebleed earlier.”

“It’s dry as hell here,” Ray replied bitingly. “I get nosebleeds sometimes.”

“In a classroom?” Geoff challenged. “In the middle of the day?”

Ray fell quiet, heart seizing with hope. He hadn’t been sick – or felt sick – in over a year. In fact, the last two weeks, he’d been on cloud nine. The only annoyance he’d had was the nosebleeds that he’d suffer from every evening.

“If that’s your only symptom, and you don’t have a fever or live failure, then you have the second genetic marker, Ray,” Geoff said encouragingly. Ray stared at him, distrusting.

“Why do you seem so confident?” he questioned. “You said it was rare and there sure as hell not a lot of people walking around with  _wings_! What makes you think I’m special, too?”

Geoff sighed in frustration, furrowing his brow in search for a good explanation. “You know how gay and lesbians tend to have a  _lot_ of gay and lesbian friends?”

Ray and Michael glanced at each other. It had been a trend noticed by the two friends. Hell, even they had made friends on the basis of video games, but both had separately realized they liked cock.

Geoff took that as an affirmative. “They gravitate towards each other, but not for any namable reason. A similar thing happens with women’s periods syncing up. Sometimes we’re attracted to things on an instinctual level depending on our body’s needs.”

“So you’re saying I befriended Michael because he had the ability to become part bird,” Ray restated dubiously, unimpressed. Michael laughed.

“I’m saying that you probably automatically felt closer to him,” Geoff said. “Or at least somewhat. I don’t know. It’s not an exact science.”

Ray snorted and rubbed his hands together, jiggling his leg. His chest was tight, as if his ribcage had been bound with ACE wrap. “As you are right now, can you still infect people?”

“You know – we’re not actually sure,” Jack said sheepishly. “We keep to ourselves. As far as I know, though, we haven’t spread it.”

“Then maybe Michael didn’t give it to me?”

Geoff opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes wandered down Ray’s face and focused on his mouth. “Uh – nosebleed.”

Ray cursed, perhaps more violent than necessary, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Indeed, blood was present in a thick smear. “Goddammit. This is real fucking annoying.”

Michael made a surprised noise in the back of his throat. His back straightened. “I haven’t had a nosebleed all day!”

“They stop once these babies come out,” Jack said. In a smooth display of skill, he stretched out one wing to the side and curled it around so it was partially in his lap. “The primary growth hormone stops, but secondary ones enlarge the bones. Tertiary ones create the membranes and feathers.”

“That’s... kind of gross,” Michael said, rotating his shoulders. His wings jostled behind him, rubbing together. Ray wondered what it felt like.

“Anatomy,” Jack shrugged.

Geoff looked at the clock on the cable box. “Our other two roommates are going to be home soon.”

“And you  _gravitated_ towards them?” Ray asked half-mockingly. 

Geoff chuckled at the stab. “Something like that. Gavin is from England, just a little bit older than you and we met Ryan through Burnie. They both work for him.”

“And who’s Burnie?” Michael asked.

“A friend of ours and yes, we  _gravitated_ towards him, if you’re going to ask. We were friends in high school, along with four other guys, and they all have the second genetic marker,” Geoff said smartly, looking at Ray.

“So then it’s not very rare,” Ray pointed out.

“It’s  _rare_ , it’s just that people with it never get infected, so they never grow fucking wings,” Geoff said, slightly annoyed.

“If you could find so many people will wings in your old high school class, then I doubt that counts as  _rare_ ,” Ray countered.

“They didn’t have wings at that point in time,” Geoff said.

“And they do now? Well, what are  _those_ odds?”

Geoff’s face flickered. “That’s a long story. They weren’t infected in the normal way.”

Ray hesitated and closed his mouth despite his burning curiosity. He sat back in his seat and dropped it.

“Well, should I even bother getting tested? What happens if they see I have it?” Ray asked instead, frowning. “Those people on TV get harassed their whole lives. It sucks. I don’t want wings if I have to give up my social status.”

“Because it was so high to start with,” Michael muttered.

“You can come get tested at where Ryan and Gavin work,” Jack suggested. “It would be on the down-low and no one would know.”

“Where the hell do Ryan and Gavin work if they’re able to test genetic mutations?” Ray said, surprised.

“They work at Rooster Teeth offices,” Geoff said. “They specialize in avianism.”

“There’s like four avianism centers next to my house,” Michael said, crinkling his nose. “They are the ugliest fucking buildings. It’s like vomit was used as a construction material.”

“Rooster Teeth functions a bit differently,” Geoff said, smiling. He met Ray’s eyes, pleading. It made Ray’s heart do a flip in his chest.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll get tested. But if it turns out negative for the second gene, and if I still have the first, I’m moving thousands of miles away from all of you.” Leaning against the back of the couch, he visibly withdrew from the conversation. Geoff looked at Michael.

“You’re both free to leave whenever you want,” Geoff said. “I have ointments and lotions that will make it less painful when the feathers start to come in. And Ray – come tell me when your back starts to swell and your entire body starts to hurt like hell. We can make your conversion more comfortable than Michael’s had been.”

Ray’s upper lip lifted in disgust, but he nodded in agreement. He had a feeling already that this wasn’t the last time he’d be sitting on this couch.

Michael nudged his knee, looking exhausted and oddly relieved. A small, private smile graced his lips.

“If I did, you know… infect you,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck and hanging his head. “You have, like, every right to totally punch me right now.”

Eyebrows high, Ray said, “I might take you up on that, but not for morphing me into a monster.”

“Then what for?”

“Being a complete moron and hiding this from me!” Ray yelled, reaching forward to smack at Michael’s arm.

“What?” Michael cried, shielding himself weakly from Ray’s swinging arms. “I didn’t fucking know!”

“You were hurting!” Ray said, grabbing Michael’s arm and roughly shaking him. Michael rag-dolled. “And you didn’t tell me that your  _back_ was swollen.”

“I thought it was just from crashing into the ditch!” Michael said hotly. “Like I said, they fucking tested me at the avianism center and I didn’t show up as positive!”

“Second genetic marker,” Geoff interjected. “It invalidates the test. The protein bonds differently and won’t be detected. They use a different test to find the second genetic marker.”

“That’s… way too much science for me,” Ray admitted, still tightly gripping Michael’s arm. He turned back to stare the redhead in the eye. The sight of Michael’s drawn, strained face made Ray deflate a little. “Tell me next time, you loser,” he finally murmured before practically throwing Michael away from him.

Michael splayed across the arm of the couch and didn’t move, breathing deeply. He blinked slowly and slurred out the words, “Knew you weren’t mad.”

Ray rolled his eyes, exasperated with his stubborn friend, and turned back to Geoff, who was conversing with Jack in a low voice. “It’s getting late,” he said. “Thanks for helping and everything, Mr. Ramsey, and, uh, obviously we should be keeping this a secret, right?”

“Back to Mr. Ramsey,” Geoff muttered sourly before forcing a smile onto his face. “Yeah, it’d be best to keep this quiet. I mean – if you feel the sudden desire to make a media spectacle out of yourself and to be shunned from all social norms and groups, go for it.” His face suddenly darkened to an expression neither Michael nor Ray had seen before. “But if you mention our names, we’re going to find ourselves on opposite sides.”

Michael and Ray glanced at each other before turning back and nodding vigorously.

Jack looked at the clock and, apparently unaffected by the abruptly tense atmosphere, said, “Don’t you want to meet Ryan and Gavin?”

“Well,” Ray faltered. He longed for the comfort of his bedroom, where he could collapse on his messy bed and sleep off this nightmare. But before he could decline, the sound of keys scraping the front door’s lock cut him off.

“Home!” someone announced, loud and accented. Gavin, then, if he remembered correctly. So that meant the tall, buff blond was–

“Ryan!” Jack smiled, standing up and hurrying over to take some of the man’s bags from his hands. Ray balked. Who needed five backpacks?

“Hey, Jack,” Ryan greeted casually and, having not noticed the two newcomers sitting frozen on the couch, leaned forward and pecked Jack nonchalantly on the lips. He then did the same to Geoff.

Ray’s stomach fluttered.

Jack cheeks flushed red. He coughed. “Good day at work?”

“Average,” Gavin said, answering for them both. His eyes drifted around the room looking for Geoff, but they froze on Michael and Ray. “Company?”

“Ryan, Gav, this is Michael and Ray,” Geoff said formally, moving forward to stand in-between them. He gestured for Michael and Ray to stand up when the two didn’t move. “Michael, Ray, this is Ryan and Gavin. The last two roommates.”

“Small house,” Michael muttered, looking critically at Gavin. He gave Geoff a funny look but thankfully said nothing, though Ray could see his mental wheels spinning. He accepted Ryan’s offered handshake and then shook Gavin’s.

“You have no idea,” Gavin said solemnly, sizing the redhead up. His eyebrow flew to his hairline. “Sorry – which one were you? Ray or Michael?”

“I’m Michael,” he answered. “He’s Ray. We look nothing alike so it shouldn’t be hard.”

Gavin grinned at his snippy reply, unfazed. “Don’t underestimate me, Michael,” he said slowly, testing out the man’s name.

Michael twitched. “There’s an ‘L’ in my name, you know. Where did you say you were from?”

“Oxfordshire,” Gavin practically sang.

“I have no fucking clue where that is,” Michael said blankly. “How old are you?”

Ray wanted to face palm; Michael couldn’t have been any more blatant. Gavin luckily didn’t seem to mind. “Just turned nineteen.”

“And you live here?”

“Michael,” Ray hissed. Gavin just laughed.

“Don’t worry about it – we get a lot of questions. It’s a bit complicated and unorthodox, but we have a nice arrangement.”

“Friends with benefits?” Michael asked.

“I’m really sorry for him?” Ray shouted in embarrassment, shoving the redhead out of the way. “He’s – tired; it’s been a long day.”

But Gavin didn’t seem to be paying attention to him at all. His eyes were glued to Michael’s back, his wings having come into view just now. His Italian-tanned skin washed pale.

“Oh!” Gavin nearly shouted, a large grin breaking across his face. “Oh my god – look at them!” he said loudly, pointing to the scrawny wings poking through the slits of his borrowed shirt.

Michael flushed and whipped around, shielding them from view. “Shut the fuck up!”

Gavin skipped around Michael until he was up close and personal with Michael’s stickily limbs. “Aw, they’re so cute! They had to’ve just come in – not a single feather!”

He then proceeded to make a collection of soft, chirping noises that made Michael’s hair stand uncomfortably on end. Ducking away from the stranger, Michael hastily backed up a few steps, frowning warily at Gavin.

“Gavin, knock it off,” Geoff said sharply.

“Where did he come from?” Ryan asked, delighted. As he spoke, he reached back to adjust his shirt, holding open two nondescript slits so that his large, thick wings could slide out. They were a sleek beige, closely matching his hair.

“School,” Geoff said. “Along with this one. Remember the two brats from sixth period?”

Ryan’s eyes widened and he laughed boisterously. “What are the chances?”

“It makes sense, actually,” Jack said, but he went unnoticed.

“Geoff,” Gavin scolded. “That’s really dirty. You’re their  _teacher_.”

“Mm, say it again, Gav, you know how much I love when you say dirty,” Geoff said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He started to push Michael and Ray towards the door as if just realizing that perhaps this meeting didn’t have the best timing.

“Dirty,” Gavin purred, hurrying after them. “Wait, wait,” he said in a normal voice. “Geoff, what are you doing with them?” He pointed at Ray. “What about him?”

“We think he’s going to start growing them soon,” Geoff said, glancing at Ray. “And we’re not going to ‘do anything’ with them. They’re going home.”

Gavin looked crestfallen. “Home?”

“We sorta had a long day,” Michael said testily.

“But we just met,” Gavin protested.

“Implying it hadn’t been  _more_ than enough,” Ray said jokingly, patting Gavin on the back as he moved around him to the door. At Gavin’s slightly offended, yet oddly mollified expression, he said, “We’ll probably be back. You know, when  _my_ wings come bursting through my back.”

Geoff glanced Michael, who was barely paying attention. “It usually doesn’t happen like that. Just… tell me when your back starts to ache or if two bumps suddenly appear. Oh and Michael – you might need this.”

He threw Michael a large jacket, useful to hide his straggly wings.

“Will do,” Ray promised, still harboring a small about of doubt. He grabbed Michael’s hand and, ignoring the pointed looks from all in the room, dragged Michael through the door.

“Bye, Mr. Ramsey! And Jack!” Michael called through the closing door. It clicked shut behind them and the two boys spend a long moment just staring at each other.

“Did that just happen?”

“I… have no fucking clue,” Michael admitted, rotating his shoulders and cringing in discomfort. He looked out to the street. Geoff luckily only lived a few blocks from Michael and Ray’s own homes. “Let’s just go home.”

“To yours, because you owe me one helluva backrub.”

“I owe  _you_ the backrub?”

“Hell yeah, in preparation for what’s to come! For what you  _did_ to me!”

“How about rubbing what  _already came_?!”

They paused before they burst out laughing.

During the walk there, they argued over whether or not backrub implied something more and if costs could be negotiated.

\---

Months later, school ended and Michael and Ray graduated. Ray, who’d just been employed at a GameStop down the street, couldn’t care less, and Michael had been taken on as an apprentice by a local electrician.

The ceremony had been mind-numbingly boring, but it had been a struggle for Michael to make it across the stage. Ever since his symptoms came to a head and popped, they’d disappeared. A new set had arrived not long after that.

As the fleshy branches grew, the weight began to pull on his neck and shoulders. There was intense pressure on his lower back that drove him insane and forced him to use a heating pad every night to calm the muscles. His walk was stunted as a result and he found himself tilting over backwards if he wasn’t paying attention. Geoff told him he’d yet to learn how to subconsciously balance himself or grow the necessary support muscles. Michael had told him to fuck out of his personal business.

Geoff’s presence in his life had become a burden. Knowing the man was in a committed, happy relationship – with three other guys, no less – had encouraged Michael to back off. Ray shared his sentiment, and suddenly Mr. Ramsey’s class was just an awkward hour to suffer through every day.

But now that school was over, Michael worried slightly how to keep ties with Geoff. He still needed guidance in this new and exciting world, and Ray’s wings were just staring to come in. Walking to the teacher’s house uninvited would be inappropriate and rude. Visiting him during school hours would be impossible.

As it was, Geoff had shown him most of what he needed to know. Baggy t-shirts were good for unfeathered wings. Once feathers started to take form and mold together, however, it was easy to compress the wings. It explained why Gavin could get away with wearing those skin-tight shirts.

Geoff had also given Ray two bottles of lubrication for his feathers.

“That’s so unfair,” Michael grouched, eyeballing the two innocent bottles sitting on Ray’s bed. “I get the explosive nightmare, and yours come in all slow and dainty – with feathers and everything!”

“Early bloomer,” Ray called him and crossed his legs on the bed. He grabbed one of the bottles and opened it. “Stop making that face. It doesn’t smell that bad.”

Michael hummed, watching with fascination as Ray started to comb through his dark brown feathers, applying the oil to the dry spots and greasing along the thick shaft. It smoothed down the ruffled feathers and calmed the irritated, puffy skin at the base of the tongs that provided structure for feathers.

The ritual was done now with ease. Practiced fingers carefully edged along the thick bunches of plumage, meticulous and skilled. Michael scoffed quietly.

“You only do that so well because of your fucking video games,” he said under his breath. His own wings, rather poofy, shifted around in agitation.

Ray grinned up at him but didn’t pause in his grooming. “Keep telling yourself that as I do yours next.”

“Not this time,” Michael said, reaching over his shoulder to pull his wings around. He hadn’t yet strengthened the muscles enough to move them voluntarily, but the feathers – at least the downy ones – had finally come in. Rich auburn, they were packed together closely. It was difficult for Michael to get in between them to tend to the skin underneath, but he was getting better at it. “I’m doing it this time. I’m tired of giving you fuel to mock me with.”

“You’re really going to do it yourself?” Ray asked, raising an eyebrow. He moved onto the next wing and started over, slicking up his hand with more oil.

“All I have to do is straighten the feathers, right?” Michael said.

Ray tsked. “Well, yeah, but you also gotta weed out the dead ones and massage the membrane ‘n shit.”

Michael blew out a sigh. “Maybe you can help me with some of it?”

Ray grinned, not looking up. In silence, he finished up his favorite grooming habit and started to stretch out the large muscles. The joints popped awfully loud, still new and weak. They weren’t fully out yet, still lodged halfway through the skin of his back, but already they were covered with primary feathers.

“What do they feel like?” Michael asked curiously.

“I dunno – I mean, they don’t really hurt. Just kind of tender.”

Michael shook his head, mouth agape. “And Geoff said it was completely normal for feathers to grow even before the wings come out?”

“I guess so,” Ray shrugged before shooting Michael a roguish smile. “Not all of us are drama queens, with insane, cinematic rebirths.”

Michael playfully smacked at him. “Oh, let it go. I didn’t invite you to beat witness, jackass, you made the decision to follow – and get both of our tests invalidated, by the way. I’m not surprised she thought we were cheating. Good thing Ge–Mr. Ramsey had an excuse ready.”

“We’re out of school now, man. I think we can call him Geoff,” Ray said slyly, knowing damn well that Michael had stuttered over Geoff’s name for a different reason. His smug expression fell a moment later, however, when he thought about the predicament they’d landed themselves in. “Though maybe not for much longer,” he said as an afterthought.

“Don’t say that, Ray,” Michael said. “We’re gonna stay in touch with them regardless of what the hell goes on in their bedroom.”

Ray hummed noncommittally.

“We  _are_!”

“I wasn’t disagreeing with you,” Ray said unconvincingly.

“Geoff has, like,  _demanded_ that we keep in touch. I think he wants to be friends,” Michael said dully.

Ray sighed and bit his lip, glancing up at Michael before quickly looking back down. “We’re a thing, right?”

“I’d hope so,” Michael snorted. “Otherwise the handholding that went on yesterday would be considered a little weird.”

Ray laughed. “Yeah, good point. But if you could… would you bang Geoff?”

“You kiddin’ me, Ray? Would you  _not_?”

“You didn’t answer – was that a yes? You’d bang Geoff?”

Michael busied himself with roughly raking through his newly grown feathers. He ripped out two in the space it took him to answer. “He’d have to be into it,” he finally said.

Ray grinned at Michael’s honest answer and flicked a red feather off the bed. “Not gonna lie; before learning he was in some kinky foursome, I totally thought he was a serious sex opportunity.”

“You thought he’d put sex in you?” Michael laughed.

“I always got the feeling he’d put sex in both of us,” Ray admitted.

“You know what – I thought so, too. But I guess he just liked us as students,” Michael shrugged, clamping down on the pang in his chest. Another feather got caught in between his fingers and was pulled from its roots. A sharp stab of pain lanced through his wing.

“Be fucking gentler,” Ray snapped at him. “They just came in and they’re going to be gone by the time you’re done.”

“They just fall out on their own!” Michael claimed, shaking the feathers from his hands. Ray pursed his lips at him and dropped it.

“So you would’ve banged Geoff?” Ray said after a moment of quiet.

“I said yes! You’re the one who never answered.”

“Hell yeah. I had a wet dream about him like two weeks ago.”

Michael scoffed. “What, am I not satisfying you in some way?”

“Considering we’ve never had sex, yeah, I’d say I’m pretty unsatisfied,” Ray said, sticking his tongue out at his boyfriend.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Ray,” Michael laughed. He shook free another feather, which Ray then eyed. “Shut up about that, too.”

There was a comfortable pause where Ray chewed over how to ask his next question and where Michael tried to sort his mess of downy without ripping it out. The lube was almost gone, the rich scent of something like boiled crayons filling the room. Large primary feathers – mostly auburn in color – covered the bed and small, bright red down feathers hung in the air.

“Do you think you could do it?” Ray suddenly asked, voice wavering. “Be in a relationship with more than one person?”

Michael swallowed thickly, not daring to look at Ray. His hair prickled. “Yeah, I mean – why not? Polygamy was a thing in old cultures.”

“That one husband ten wives crap?”

“No, I mean like… everyone loves each other, not just everyone sharing one dude,” Michael said. “I don’t think I’d be very good at that. But if it was equal and shit, and healthy or whatever… yeah, sure.”

Ray took a long time to digest Michael’s words, only slightly surprised by the redhead’s response. His stomach fluttered in anticipation.

“I think I could, too,” he eventually said, trying his best to be casual. “It sounds like a fucking sweet deal, if you ask me. More buttholes to pound. More dicks to take up mine.”

Michael burst into laughter, clutching at his stomach as tears beaded his eyes. “Oh my god, Ray. That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.”

“That’s the correct way to look at it, I think you mean.”

“Maybe,” Michael allowed. “Are you almost done? It’s really starting to stink in here.”

“It smells fine,” Ray retorted. “Are  _you_  done? I mean – there’s almost nothing left of your wings. You should be reaching the end soon.”

Michael scowled at him. “Just a few more plucks.”

\---

Gavin was really starting to piss Michael off.

“You can tell him to fuck off,” Geoff suggested, smile clear in his tone. He was reclined comfortably on the armchair next to the couch where Michael sat, trapped against the armrest.

“I can’t. This is my best option. Otherwise, he’ll corner me somewhere else, like the bathroom or hallway,” Michael said flatly.

From the floor, Ray didn’t look away from the video game he was playing as he said to Gavin, “Don’t pull any out. He barely has any left to lose.”

Geoff frowned. “Yeah, Michael – you’re looking a little thread-bare over there. What’s going on?”

“He’s not letting me groom his wings anymore,” Ray explained, throwing Geoff a  _look_ over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Michael,” Gavin said from behind him. “It looks like ostrich skin back here.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Michael replied, forcing his attention back onto the game Ray was solo-ing. He winced when Gavin pulled a little harshly on one of the downy-covered tongs. “Gavin, chill the fuck out.”

“Sorry, Michael,” Gavin murmured, wrangling one large, fuzzy appendage fully into his lap. Without consent of its owner, it stretched out languidly and fit snugly against Gavin’s chest. Michael’s cheeks went pink, but thankfully Gavin didn’t mention it.

“It’s so soft,” he cooed, stroking the main shaft of one of the wings. Leaning down, he pressed his cheek to the fluffy, shapeless feathers that sat at the large joint. “It’s like the inside of a pillow!”

“Pillows are made of fucking feathers, you moron,” Michael said, rubbing his heated face. “Yours feel like that, too.”

“How would you know, Michael? You’ve never felt my feathers,” Gavin said sadly. Glancing over his shoulder, Michael could see that Gav’s lower lip was sticking out in an exaggerated pout.

With a ‘ _can you believe this!’_ look to Ray, Michael said, “I imagine it’s a lot like mine.”

“Nah. Mine are matured,” Gavin said conversationally. “Larger and silkier feathers.”

“Christ,” Michael muttered to himself. “Yeah, well, give me a few months and I’ll be a big boy like you,” he said to Gavin.

 Gavin grinned. “In the meantime, you have fluff. Can’t lie – I love this stage.”

“I can tell,” Michael said, rolling his shoulders and inadvertently slapping Gavin in the face with his wings.

“If it bothers you, I can go to X-Ray?” Gavin offered knowingly.

Ray sent him a panic-filled, vigorous shake of the head. Geoff muffled his laughter behind his lips without looking up from his iPad.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Michael grumbled. He sighed and pillowed his chin in crossed arms, relaxing against the arm of the couch. Gavin began his more tedious work and started a small pile of rejected feathers on the coffee table.

The atmosphere in the small room was nothing short of familial. Ray was too lost in his game to be involved in any conversation, and Geoff hadn’t looked up from his iPad in over fifteen minutes, but Michael felt absurdly at home… even if his wings were aching from Gavin’s meticulous inspection.

Michael and Ray had been formally invited to spend the evening with Geoff and his – ahem –  _roommates_  for dinner four times in less than two weeks. It was quickly becoming something of a tradition – one that Michael treasured.

Gavin had grown on Michael over that some, despite the reluctance on Michael’s part. They shared a wide range of interests, but Gavin was a true asshole and rather abstract in his daily thought. Michael enjoyed having someone that could banter with him on a harsher level, as Ray and him often kept it friendly. With Gavin, Michael could truly let go.

And somewhere along the line, Geoff went from teacher to something like a friend’s hot, intellectually attractive hot dad in Michael’s mind. It made Michael anxious to be around him, but outside of a school environment, Geoff turned out to be an atrociously tactile human being. Cheek pats, head rubs, wing grazes – Michael learned fast that if you were within feet of Geoff, you were going to be touched.

Observing the group like this, in a normal, domestic atmosphere, Michael could barely believe that they were social outliers. The wings, which had once seemed otherworldly and overwhelming, were now no more exciting than a simple arm.

Gavin, however, was freakishly fascinated by Michael. The feathers had bloomed, but mostly consisted of the softer, base ones. The large primaries were fewer and much darker in color. The stems of those were painful to touch – unless it was Ray’s hands doing the touching.

Michael winced when Gavin roughly carded through one of the second layers of primaries. “Gavin,” he warned.

“Sorry, sorry,” the Brit muttered, placing a hand on the back of Michael’s neck in apology. He squeezed gently. “It’s hard to tell where the layers start and end.”

“The tips are different,” Ray said offhandedly, fingers not pausing on the buttons.

“What? No they aren’t,” Gavin frowning, examining his own feathers. “The tips look the same.”

Ray didn’t blink. “Michael’s don’t.”

Gavin’s frown deepened and he delved further, drawing a pained growl from Michael. Geoff looked up.

“Jesus, Gav,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You’re skinning them.”

“Look at this, Geoff!” Gavin crowed in delight. “The layers differ in the tips.”

Geoff rolled his eyes. “Most do. You’re just weird.”

“Nah,” Gavin waved off. “My tips are fine.”

Geoff gave him a lewd grin. “I can agree with that.”

Michael hid his face in crossed arms, pursing his lips. Conversations like these always made him question what he was doing here. Ray’s character abruptly died on the TV for the first time all evening.

“Where are Ryan and Jack?” Gavin asked minutes into a slightly uncomfortable silence.

Michael didn’t hear an answer. He looked up just in time to catch Geoff communicating in nothing but shared glances that spoke clearly of  _naughty things_.

“Jesus,” Michael muttered, averting his eyes.

Gavin finally showed signs of ending his investigation; his hands began to smooth down the length of the stalks, flattening any bent feathers and providing comfort. It made Michael go boneless and hum in satisfaction, but then Gavin was pulling away.

“I won’t apologize for that, Michael,” Gavin said smugly. “I have to make sure my boi is growing well into his wings. All healthy and correct.”

Michael snorted. “Right. Throw away those fucking feathers, dumbass. That’s gross.”

“They’re your feathers!”

“That you violently ripped from my skin!” Michael yelled, having to fight to smother his grin. Gavin’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“But Michael –”

“’But Michael,’” Geoff said in a mockingly high voice. He stood up, stretched, and scooped up the pile of reddish brown feathers. They were disposed of in the trash.

“Thanks, Geoff,” Gavin said cheerfully, bouncing off the couch and into the kitchen to join him.

Michael turned, opening his mouth to playfully bitch at Gavin for not cleaning up after himself  _again_ , but his eyes landed on a spectacle he shouldn’t have been surprised to see. Nonetheless, his eyes widened and he whipped around with a flushed face.

Ray seemed to sense his sudden discomfort. He paused the game and turned around, cocking his head in confusion before his eyes landed on a point over Michael’s shoulder. His jaw fell.

Seeing two men kiss, even if only for a brief second, shouldn’t turn Michael on. It  _shouldn’t_ , especially if Michael was friends with them, but a wet warmth unfurled low in his stomach anyway.

He met eyes with Ray and knew he was having a similar issue.

“Alright, so we have ice cream in the freezer, for once,” Geoff said, taking out two bowls. “I assume you two losers want some?”

“We have ice cream?” Gavin gasped, knocking into Geoff in his hurry to steal a bowl away. “Top!”

“Michael? Ray?” Geoff prompted.

“Uh – yeah. Yeah, I’m up for some ice cream,” Ray finally said, standing up quickly and slapping the back of Michael’s head.

Michael hummed distractedly, frowning to himself. His wings puffed up slightly.

_This is going to get harder and harder._

He mentally shook himself. “Yeah – fuck yeah. It better not be vanilla.”

\---

Ray’s wings finished blooming three weeks later.

“Wow, Ray, they look great,” Geoff praised, grinning madly and stepping back to appreciate them at their fullest length. Ryan and Jack nodded in agreement, clearly impressed. Ray’s chest swelled.

They truly were beautiful. Nearly twice as long as his body, the membrane had fully formed and filled in with thick, mocha plumage. Each feather was several shades of chocolate and gleamed as if wet. They were so tightly packed that the skin underneath was no longer visible.

“They’re small,” Gavin observed, darting forward to poke Ray in the stomach. “Like you.”

Ray batted him away. “I’m the same size as you!”

“The same  _age_ , not the same size,” Gavin corrected. “I’m taller.”

Ray grumbled inaudibly and crossed his arms. His wings retracted slightly.

“Shut up, Gavin,” Geoff said.

“They’re average-sized, Ray,” Ryan consoled, patting the smaller man’s back, up near his shoulder.

“Wing size is correlated to hand size,” Gavin continued smartly. As if to prove his point, his soft, brown wings spread out to their full size. In contrast to Ray’s feathers, Gavin’s were a muted, single shade of the same light beige, thicker and less in number. His wings were indeed larger than Ray’s, if just by inches.  

“Oh, fuck off, Gavin,” Ray muttered and thwapped Gavin roughly on the shoulder with the edge of his wing. Gavin laughed.

Pulling his hands above his head, Geoff groaned. “What a good stretch,” he drawled, the joints of his wings popping pleasantly. They weren’t the largest of wings in the room, but they certainly filled up a good amount of space and they were definitely the darkest – nearly ebony, with occasional red patches. “I’m so glad we picked a backyard with a fence. And trees.”

Jack smiled and followed his lead, relaxing his wings into a comfortable pose. Most of them spent the day with their wings pressed firm against their spine; just to be out of the shirt was a huge relief. Jack’s wings, in particular, were large and thick. Geoff was constantly amazed at they could flatten as much as they did, enough to be remarkably unnoticeable through a shirt. Michael and Ray were still struggling with subconsciously keeping their wings tight enough under their clothes; Michael had ripped four of his shirts and two of Geoff’s.

Something slipped across the back of his neck. Geoff grinned at the familiar feeling and pushed his own wing back against Ryan’s, the meeting of feathers soft and slick. They glided effortlessly against one another.

After a long moment of mutual enjoyment, Ryan pulled his sleek, blond wing back and shook it out behind him.

“How do you do that?” Michael suddenly asked, speaking for the first time since lunch. Since they’d come outside, he’d been quietly appraising Ray’s newly formed, matured wings. “How’d you touch wings without getting the feathers all fucked up?”

“It takes practice,” Ryan said casually and slowly offered Michael to join him in a similar ritual. Everyone but Ray and Michael perked, wings held tense at attention; this was Michael’s first time participating in a deeper, more animalistic bond. So far, Geoff had been successful in unraveling a friendship between his former students, but engaging them romantically was surprisingly tricky. Even persuading one to join in on a grooming was damned near impossible, because someone would get too embarrassed to enjoy themselves.

But Michael was unaware that Ryan had just offered a deeper form of friendship and naively reached out with a curious expression, the movement of his wings jerky and child-like. They were surprisingly large.

Gavin bragged every day how his hand theory was correct. About a month ago, he started in on dick size being correlated as well. Geoff couldn’t deny that some part of him was overly excited to find out if that was true, too.

But first thing first.

Ryan’s wing was taunt with the stretch, feathers quivering in anticipation. It was a stark contrast to his face, which was guarded and steely – braced for Michael’s reaction.

But Michael’s expression was nothing short of open. Everyone’s breath was caught deep in their chest as the two wings made contact, the flat surfaces just barely grazing. Sucking in a harsh breath, Ryan wordlessly took control and hovered his wing over Michael’s, dipping down to once more brush together. Ryan’s eyes fell half-lidded, shoulders loosening.

Geoff could feel Gavin thrumming with nervous energy at his side. The wing closest vibrated impatiently against Geoff’s arm. “You can wait,” Geoff murmured from the side of his mouth.

A large grin broke out on Michael’s face, revealing his dimples and brightening his eyes. From his lips, a giggle slipped loose. “Seems a lot easier when you do it,” he said coyly, cocking his head and allowing Ryan to take the leader further. Their feathers just barely interlocked, the chestnut and blond looking  _all too right_ together. Geoff swallowed thickly, heart swelling against his lungs.

“See? Practice,” Ryan encouraged quietly when Michael began to reciprocate, voice shaking. Their feathers locked deeper and a visible shiver ran through Ryan. Michael’s eyes fell half-lidded, mouth parting in a sigh.

“That feels good,” Michael said with a questioning lilt, sliding Geoff a small smile that made Geoff want to place a kiss right on those lips.

“It definitely does,” Ryan breathed out with little thought, body language nothing but vulnerable. Gavin smothered a snicker behind his lip, but Ryan was far too absorbed in feeling out the expanse of Michael’s wing. Geoff could see the moment when he slipped and edged a little too far.

“Ouch,” Michael twitched, pulling back slightly. Ryan’s eyes flew open at the uttered word and instantly withdrew his wing until only the tips brushed together.

“Sorry,” Ryan said sincerely, a pink spot appearing high on his cheeks. He combed a hand through his hair. “I forgot that you don’t have all of your primaries yet.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Michael grumbled, souring at the reminder that he was still underdeveloped. His wings slid out from Ryan’s with speed powered by self-consciousness. Ryan’s chased it for a few feet before snapping back. He coughed.

“A lot of skin is still open to air,” Jack explained for him. “The sensitivity should scale back in a few days at this rate.”

“This rate,” Michael mocked under his breath, mouth twisting into a sneer. He tucked his wings up, most likely to hide what he thought were imperfections.

“They’re getting there,” Ryan reassured, patting Michael on the shoulder.

Ray bumped hips with his friend, subtly moving him out of the way. It was also a small measure of comfort – but mostly it was so he was able to flap his wing against Ryan’s leg. “Can I try?” he asked forwardly.

Geoff shared a surprised glance with Gavin. He could tell the Brit suspected it too; Ray had begun to understand that this was over the line of friendship, crossing somewhere into… something.

Ryan grinned and they repeated the process, and sure to stone, Ray was far more observant and involved. A wide range of emotion flickered across his face and his eyes warmed with surprise and affection.

“Do birds do this?” Ray asked as Ryan topped off the intimate interaction with a soft tap on the top of his head. Ray, showing a skillful mastery of wing movement that impressed even Geoff, booped him on the nose with the very cusp of his wing in return.

“Not really,” Jack said. “But it’s something we picked up from Griffon.”

Ray nodded. “So it’s a human-slash-hybrid-bird thing.”

“Yup.”

Ray grinned. “It’s not bad.”

Jack mirrored him. “I wouldn’t say bad, no.”

Gavin relaxed into Geoff’s side, the added weight of the Brit’s wings nearly knocking him over. He slung an arm around Gavin’s shoulders to balance himself and pressed a kiss to messy hair. He leant down further and swiftly pressed one to his lips as well.

Ray, Jack, and Ryan all relaxed into conversation, and Geoff could feel Michael’s eyes on him and Gavin. It didn’t bother Geoff; he knew Michael was damn near too curious to contain himself. In fact, Geoff was counting on it.

Though he had his rambunctious moments, Ray was shy and cautious. He was hard to push into making decisions. Michael, on the other hand, was forward with what he wanted, and if Geoff could read him correctly, he wanted to know everything about their relationship.

And by now, he was probably wondering how he – and Ray, by extension – figured into it.

Geoff wasn’t going to push, or pry, or persuade. He could, however, drop hints and show the two boys that they were welcomed in his house. And after a long talk with Ryan, Gavin, and Jack, they came to a conclusion that Ray and Michael could easily fit into their odd group. After all – if Jack and Gavin could work out their differences…

His only worry was how long it would be until Michael worked up the nerve; the moment he met Michael’s interested gaze, the redhead found something even more riveting near his shoes to stare at.

Nonetheless, he smiled at Michael and Gavin did the same, if not slightly sneering.

“Wanna go back inside?” Gavin said to him, picking up on the redhead’s discomfort.

“But it’s so nice out here,” Jack said, fluttering his wings in the warm breeze.

“I’ll go back inside,” Michael said, voice dulled. “You guys can stay out here. Actually – I might go back to my house. Take a nap and all.”

Geoff frowned, gently disentangling himself from Gavin. “You don’t have to leave,” he said hopelessly. A brief pang of guilt made his chest ache.

“Yeah, Michael, just take the couch,” Ryan said. “You fall asleep there every afternoon, anyway.”

Michael turned red. “That’s because Ray force-feeds me Nyquil.”

“That’s because we couldn’t hear the T.V. over you coughing,” Ray replied. “For, like, two weeks straight.”

“And then you just started napping there,” Jack said lightly, smiling. “I can’t blame you. That couch is comfy as hell.”

“I don’t even nap that much,” Michael grumbled. He crossed his arms and started towards the back porch. “Later, guys–”

“Wait, no,” Ray frowned, reaching out a hand. “What’s up?”

Michael’s eyes went from Ray to Geoff to Gavin and back to Ray. His cheeks washed a little pale, but otherwise his expression was neutral. His wings, however, spoke volumes of his discomfort by rubbing anxiously together and shifting higher.

“Nothin’, just tired,” he answered evasively.

“Feeling a little homesick?” Gavin joked. “You’re over here more than your own house.”

It was probably meant as a joke, or perhaps egging Michael onto some grand confession of his feelings, but Michael’s face closed off like someone had flipped the switch of a water valve. Geoff pinched Gavin’s arm in warning.

“Yeah,” Michael said flatly. “I’m…  _homesick_. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

\---

Maybe he was imaging it, but Michael could’ve sworn his bed smelled like dust.

He faceplanted with force, allowing the springs to bounce him a few times until he was just breathing peacefully into the mattress. The smell was more or less the same in the end – his soap and Ray’s skin. It wasn’t bad, but it was missing a few scents.

The room was the same, too. Video game posters lined the wall. His desk was artfully organized yet homey and the bookshelf was a chaotic type of arranged. It was the room he’d lived in since he was small, where he’d grown up.

It wasn’t home anymore.

Home was where feathers were strewn messily across the house with no rhyme or reason as to where one might end up, where warm sunlight streamed in through the blinds and heated the soft carpet underneath Michael’s bare feet. It was where the distinct smell of hair gel was burned into a few select pillows, and where the blanket in the main bedroom was almost as soft as its owners. Home was joyous, booming laughter and inside jokes whispered between the taps of buttons on Xbox controllers.

Michael sighed into his own rough and scratchy sheets. The only noise in this house was the air conditioner running. He listened to it for longer than he realized before three sharp knocks rapped on the front door.

“Michael,” Ray’s voice called, impatient and three shades of disappointed. “Michael, open this door or else I’ll climb in through the window. Don’t make me do it. I might fall and bash my head like I did that one time in fifth grade!”

Michael groaned into the bedspread and reluctantly got up. He took his time, but he made sure Ray could hear him thumping down the stairs so he didn’t do anything drastic.

He yanked the door open violently. Ray stared back at him, unimpressed with Michael’s little tantrum.

Ray skipped pretense completely. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You just completely bailed. What’s up?” Ray pushed.

“I just wanted to go home,” Michael said, shrugging. His feathers crimpled uncomfortably against the skin of his back.

“You never want to go home,” Ray frowned, stepping forward to place his foot in the door. “Something’s bugging you, and it’s bugging me, so spit it out.”

“Nothing, Ray, geez,” Michael said stubbornly.

Ray just stared at him.

“Stop that,” Michael said.

Ray raised his eyebrows.

“Fuck you, Ray,” Michael groaned and opened the door wide enough to let the asshole in.

Smug, Ray climbed the stairs and sat on the bed, still silently urging Michael to continue. Standing with his hands deep in his pockets, he blew out a long sigh. “I just feel like I spend too much time over there, alright?”

“What are you talking about? They invite us over,” Ray said, genuinely surprised at Michael’s answer.

“I know they say we can come, but I spend more time over there than my own damn house,” Michael said, echoing Gavin’s words. His hands were clammy. “And – I dunno – I just felt out of place. I should be at my own house, anyway.”

“Out of place?” Ray repeated, scoffing in disbelieve. “First of all, since when has that bothered you? Second – it’s not even true!”

“It bothers me now,” Michael said with narrowed eyes. “And I’m not saying they hate my guts. I just think that it’s weird we spend all day every day at their house. Hell, we even spend nights!”

“It’s not normal,” Ray allowed, shrugging. “But who cares? I love the house and I love the guys. They’re better company than anyone at work.”

Michael pursed his lips, unwilling to divulge his deeper concerns. Instead, he said, “I’m just a bit weirded out, okay? Like – what the hell are we doing there?”

To his surprise, Ray’s ears turned a light pink. “Well… you know…”

“No, I don’t. I really don’t,” Michael said, frustrating bleeding into his words. “I can’t even talk to them about relationships or sexuality or  _their_ relationship like I want to. What if they think that’s weird or that I’m trying to fucking creep on them or something?”

“They won’t think that,” Ray said with certainly. “They aren’t even remotely shy about it. I don’t know why you’re so nervous. I think – I think everything’s going fine.”

Michael breathed heavily through his nose, allowing them to stew in a contemplative silence.

“Come here, you moron. Your pacing is killing me,” Ray griped, grabbing Michael by the wrist and pulling him onto the bed. He adjusted them so Michael had his head in Ray’s lap. “You overreach in the worst of ways. It’s like I’m fucking talking to painkiller-Michael.”

Laughing, Michael said, “Shut up. It’s a legitimate concern.”

“I mean – it would be if you weren’t totally  _wrong_ ,” Ray said, rolling his eyes. “I think Geoff really likes having us over for company. I don’t mean he’s like, hankering for an orgy, but we can have dinner in the meantime.”

“Jesus,” Michael snorted. “And you wouldn’t say no, would you?”

“’Course not,” Ray grinned. “I would never pass up the opportunity to bang a teacher.”

“Former teacher,” Michael corrected.

“I think we’ll just have to see where it goes,” Ray said thoughtfully, placing a hand under Michael’s chin. “And leaving suddenly in the middle of a nice day kinda disrupts that. Also? It smells like fucking mothballs in here.”

“Not all of us can smell like a Wendy’s restroom, Ray,” Michael said wisely, and at the end of the day, Michael was left with a lot of food for thought.

\---

Geoff  _loved_ being right.

That November, Michael kissed him after a rousing wrestling match.

It took both of them by surprise. In a rare moment of compassion, Geoff had let Michael win. Their wrestling matches tended to be a lot rougher but less purposeful than ones with Gavin. With Gavin, Geoff usually was harassing him in some way, but with Michael, Geoff simply enjoyed the skin to skin contact.

Michael had pinned Geoff’s hands to the floor in front of the couch they’d fallen from after a pushing match devolved into a tackle. Geoff could easily break the hold, but the sweaty, excited gleam in Michael’s eyes sapped his energy out.

There was a pause where they both stared at each other and panted, grinning loosely.

Lips met his without much hesitation. It was brief and soft, with no tongue, movement or passion, and when Geoff licked his lips second later, it tasted like salt.

It was one of the sweetest kisses Geoff had ever received.

The look on Michael’s face was nothing short of shocked. His mouth fell open and wow – Geoff really had poor self-control. He craned his neck up and caught the redhead’s lower lip between his teeth, running his tongue over it before slipping it inside. He could feel Michael’s breath escape from his lungs in a sharp exhale. It was insanely satisfying.

It wasn’t the makeout Geoff craved, but his heart was still jack-hammering in his chest from elation. His hands tightened around Michael’s, which had suddenly become limp.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Geoff said breathlessly.

“You –” Michael started hoarsely, eyes burning like fire. His wings took the opportunity to stretch out, carefully maneuvering around the coffee table they were crammed up against. The chestnut and auburn feathers glittered in the sunlight, the curved tips of his longest feathers brushing the ceiling in their wake. It was a graceful display of dominance, one that was comically false.

Geoff’s wings twitched from where they were squished under his and Michael’s weight. “Yes, me,” he responded cockily before tightening his hold on Michael’s hands and pushing upwards. Michael’s wings sharply swiped downwards and hit the couch with a loud thump. He tilted backwards and surrendered without much of a fight, as he sometimes did when tired. Geoff kneed his way up until he was sitting on the biting point of Michael’s hipbone.

“ _You_ were waiting,” Michael barked out in a laugh, voice strained. He didn’t struggle against Geoff’s tight grip on his hands. “Wait, so – that was okay?”

Geoff gave a wheezy laugh. “I’ve actually been waiting since sophomore year. I win the waiting game.”

“Parent-teacher conference,” Michael reminded him airily, licking his lips. He was pressed sideways into the floor with his wings jammed against the couch. He didn’t seem to mind. “Always a pleasure.”

Geoff laughed and released Michael’s hands, allowing the redhead to sit up. Michael’s hair was messy, the fringe of his wings equally disheveled. The red in his feathers complemented the rosy hue of his cheeks.

“Not gonna lie,” Geoff murmured, interlocking their fingers. “I’ve always thought you were cute. This is just a huge bonus.”

He reached his wings forward and curled them around Michael’s. The now fully matured appendages were perhaps a fraction larger than Geoff’s, with larger feathers and thinner shafts, and Geoff took far too much pleasure in encompassing Michael completely.

Michael responded enthusiastically, sliding his wings against Geoff’s. Warmth ballooned in Geoff’s chest and filled his throat, grabbing his words and sucking them back down. Something burned his eyes and seized control of his mouth, and he was unable to stop the shit-eating grin from spreading across his face.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Michael said with a playful, fragile smile. “I thought my fucking world ended when that bird dive-bombed me. Turns out that it was just a different beginning.”

Geoff grinned in answer and using the muscle of his wing, brought Michael into a kiss.


End file.
